


The Prisoner

by Tailkinker



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, BDSM, M/M, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tailkinker/pseuds/Tailkinker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an alternative version of season 8, set in an AU world which is much darker than the one shown in canon. House's prison experiences, and his return to PPTH, were much harsher. Each chapter mirrors one from the show. Please heed the warnings, this is a dark fic, with dark versions of all characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Twenty Vicodins

**Author's Note:**

> This alternative universe was suggested by damigella_314 on livejournal who sent me an email speculating how the beginning of the Eighth season might look in a world like the CollarVerse, which was created by Oflymonddreams. This isnt the CollarVerse but House's lot in life isn't much better in this universe. This story was meant to be a one-shot but canon keeps presenting us with these interesting scenes so it looks like I'll be adding to it from time to time.

He hears them coming for him in the middle of the night, their footsteps echoing along the silent tier. House holds his breath, hoping they don't stop in front of his cell door, don't open it and drag him out. Don’t take him for one of their 'play' sessions. Hoping that they take someone else tonight. He lies in his bunk, still and silent.

The heavy door is thrown open and a flashlight is shone in his eyes. 

"Prisoner House! Up against the wall!" 

He obeys quickly; he learned long ago to keep his mouth shut and his movements swift when the guards came for him. He faces the bare concrete wall of his cell, his hands flat above his head, his legs spread slightly. He tenses, once when he was in this position they'd smashed his head into the wall. This time though they don't seem to be in the mood to hang around. 

They yank his hands down behind him and cuff them tightly behind his back. Hands pat down his threadbare sleep pants and worn t-shirt, searching for contraband. When they don't find any he's spun around and pushed towards the door. He stumbles; it's hard to keep his balance with his hands behind him and his bad leg screaming at him. His last pain med was twelve hours ago, and that only half of what he is supposed to have. Heavy hands hold him upright and he's dragged away, half walking, half being carried along by the two guards on either side of him. 

He expects them to take him to the room they use for these night time excursions, a dusty, barely used storeroom, with an old table in the middle. He knows that table, has felt the scratch of the rough wood on his face as one pushes him down over the surface and the other uses his ass. He used to scream when they took him, he used to yell and curse; now he just silently endures. They always make it worse if you complain. 

He's pushed past that door and into a brightly lit room, an office where he’s never been before. There's carpet under his bare feet instead of cold concrete, and the Warden of the prison is sitting behind a large desk, immaculately dressed, despite it being the middle of the night. 

He's thrust to his knees, one guard keeping a tight grip on his shoulder, squeezing it in a promise of more pain if he doesn't behave himself. 

The warden rises and comes over to him. 

"Prisoner House. You are being released on conditional parole." 

He jerks his head up and stares at the man. He has another ten months to serve, and the Warden had made it clear when he was given the additional sentence that there would be very little chance of parole being granted again. He's paid dearly for his act of defiance to save the life of his fellow prisoner, and he'd been expecting to keep paying. 

"Do you agree to the conditions of your parole?" The warden continues and House wonders if he's missed a step in the conversation. 

"What conditions?" he asks, and the hand on his shoulder tightens again; that was the wrong question apparently. House knows that any question would be wrong. Keeping your mouth shut was the first lesson they taught you here. 

"If you don't agree you will be immediately returned to your cell, this offer won't be made again." 

There's nothing than can be worse than this place, he thinks. He nods his head cautiously. 

"Yes, I agree." 

A guard comes forward with something in his hands and reaches for House's throat. House tries to shy away but he's held tightly and feels a collar being fitted around his throat, it's made of some sort of plastic, and there's a little box on the back which sits snugly over the vertebrae of his neck. It's fluorescent orange, with the word 'prisoner' printed on it. It's designed to mark him as scum, a degenerate, not fit to associate with normal people. He'll have no rights when he's wearing it, and be a target for all those around him. 

"You're being released into the custody of the Dean of your old hospital. You will be permitted to be in the hospital and nowhere else. If you try to leave the hospital grounds the collar will send a signal to the police and you will be immediately returned to this prison." 

"You are still a prisoner. You will remain a prisoner for another ten months. You will simply be serving the remainder of your sentence in another location. If at any time the Dean is not satisfied with your performance, or you attempt to leave the hospital, or if he simply no longer needs you there, you will be returned here. Do you understand?" 

"Yes," House says, "I understand." The collar sits heavily around his neck, restricting him already. 

"Good." House twists his head to look for the new voice, a familiar voice. Foreman comes forward from where he's been standing in a dark corner of the room. House is still on his knees and Foreman looks down at him, contempt on his face. "I own you, House, for the next ten months. Don't forget it." 

* * *

He's taken to the reception room of the prison; it's as cold as the rest of the old building. Here he's uncuffed and told to strip out of his sleep clothes and he does so, watched by the guards and Foreman. He has no underwear and as he stands naked before them he can see them looking at the bruises that cover his body. The other prisoners have found the places the guards missed. 

Foreman runs a hand over his back and probes at a spot on his ribs where a guard had put a boot in the day before, House gasps at the pain and Foreman chuckles. 

"Maybe they taught you some manners while you were here, House. At least you've learned to keep your mouth shut." 

When they've all had a good look he's handed a cheap pair of jeans, a worn pair of shoes and a prison shirt with 'Department of Corrections - Prisoner'' stenciled in large letters on the back. The same uniform he's worn for the last ten months. He puts them on and watches as the guard on the desk hands over his own clothes and belongings to Foreman. His fingers twitch at the sight of the pill bottle and Foreman tucks it away in his pocket with a smirk. Foreman slips his wallet and watch into another pocket and leaves House's clothes behind on the desk. 

"He won't be needing those." 

He opens his mouth to protest but then looks around and closes it again, he's nearly out of here, and he's not going to screw it up now and be stuck in this hell hole for another ten months, he seriously doubts he'd be alive at the end of it. 

The cane Foreman examines but then throws to House with a sneer. 

"Here, you can have this, don't want your crippled ass crawling all over the hospital." 

Foreman signs some release papers and then nods his head to House. 

"Come on, you have a patient and I've wasted enough time on you tonight." 

Foreman has him sit in the back of his car and drives him back to the hospital. House rubs his wrists, which are ringed by the marks of too many handcuffings and listens as Foreman briefs him on the patient. His patient, a pair of lungs, for Wilson's patient, yet another pathetic dying cancer victim. He doesn't care, and he doubts Foreman does either. Foreman wanted him out of here for his own reasons, and the patient was just convenient for him. 

"What happened to Cuddy?" he asks when Foreman finishes. 

"Board dumped her," Foreman answers shortly and House shuts up. 

* * *

He enters the hospital at Foreman's heels, his prison garb and the collar marking him as a degenerate for all who care to look. The security guards at the entrance eye him with smiles on their faces, he's insulted them plenty of times before and he knows they'll be happy to take their revenge. Nobody is going to care what sort of use a guard makes of a convict, he's learned that. 

Foreman leads him past the glass fronted office suite that used to be his domain, one side is occupied by what looks like orthopedics, the other is empty. 

"Where's my stuff," he asks, "what about my team?" They've probably moved on, he only held onto them through a mixture of blackmail and offering them protection from worse bosses, the weasels probably took the first opportunity they had and ran, taking his stuff with them. 

Foreman looks back at him. "Your stuff was given away of course, unless Wilson took any - you'd have to ask him, if he's talking to you. I'd suggest asking very nicely," he adds with a smug smile. "He's not happy with you, as you can imagine. Your ass is going to be sore for a long time if he even bothers with you again." Foreman reaches out to pat him on the ass, as if to make his point and House hits his hand away. 

"Keep your fucking hands to yourself, Foreman." He might have to put up with being seen as a prisoner by the whole staff here, but he isn't going to let them treat him like some slutty intern. 

Foreman scowls at him but then shrugs. "Keep that attitude up House and you'll be back in that prison before the day is out. I've heard that you're quite the popular little fucktoy there. I can't see why they bother myself." 

"Yeah, yeah, and who's going to cure these lungs then? You need me here Foreman, surprised it's taken you this long to figure that out. Now, if you've given my office away where am I supposed to work, and where's my team?" 

Foreman leads him to an unmarked wooden door halfway down the corridor and throws it open. House stares at the interior; the room is a box, with no windows and one dim light. There's a cot shoved up against one wall, a desk and a chair and that's about it. Sitting on the chair is a terrified looking girl in a labcoat. Foreman ignores her and turns to House. 

"Here's your new 'office'. And that's your new team." 

"No, I need..." 

"Get this straight House. You''ll work here, you'll sleep here, you'll wear those clothes. You'll get three meals a day at the canteen, whatever they have left over after everyone else has eaten. You'll keep yourself groomed and tidy or I'll get the guards to do it for you. I will not let you make my hospital look bad. Cuddy was soft and weak. She let you get away with doing whatever you wanted. Well now you're nothing, you have no position here, no tenure, no department, no salary. You're one step up from a fucking slave. You'll do what you're told, when I tell you. Otherwise you go back to prison. Your ass is mine. I own you." 

"Yes, Massa," House says. He knows he'll pay for it but he can't let this go without protest. 

Foreman grins ferally and presses something in his pocket. It must be a control to House's collar because House is thrown to the ground by a jolting shock which takes his breath away and leaves his whole body jerking with pain. 

The girl in the coat stares at him, her mouth open wide, her hand pressed against it. 

As House writhes on the floor Foreman kicks him in the side, right where the worst bruise is. Then he kneels next to him, pulls his head up by the hair and talks in a low voice. 

"Seven years I had to take your shit, House, your insults, your stupid games, all your insanity. Well, I don't have to anymore. Now it's pay back time. Get your sorry ass off the floor, take your 'team' and go cure the fucking lungs." 

* * *

House lies down on the narrow cot in his 'office', wrapped in a blanket he liberated from a patient who no longer had a need for it. He stares at the closed door. He doesn't like the solid walls; in his old office with the glass walls he could see who was coming, keep an eye on things. Here he's trapped, the door doesn't lock and there's nowhere to hide if anyone comes for him. 

He's sent Park home, she turned out not to be completely useless and she didn't seem to mind the fact that he was prison scum. She'll need some sort of protection from the ass she used to work for in neurology, the one she punched out when he groped her in his office, House is surprised he hasn't come looking for her already. Normally Wilson would sort out protection for House's team, but he's been giving House the cold shoulder all day. House had been prepared for anything from Wilson; after what he did he would deserve it, but being ignored hurts worse than the thrashing he'd figured he'd be getting. He'd thought he'd caused a break in the man's demeanour when he'd saved his damned patient so she could go back to her loser boyfriend but he hasn't seen him since then. 

He's desperately tired, he's been up since three this morning, not allowed to take a break until he'd come up with a diagnosis that worked. He's done it too, fresh out of Hell, beaten and bruised, a damn collar around his neck and he is better than any of them. Foreman won't send him back; he's too valuable to the hospital. He'll treat him like crap, like something he's scraped off the sidewalk but he'll keep him. Now he just has to get Wilson to take him on again and he'll be set. 

His eyes are just closing when he hears the door open and two men slip inside the small room, shutting the door behind them. He rolls out of bed, grabbing his cane as they slap on the lights. 

Two security staff, grins on their stupid faces. He knows them; they were two of Cuddy's favourites. 

"Well convict, get on your knees and open your mouth, you should be good at that now," one of them says, as the other advances on him. House grips his cane tighter. If he opens wide for these two there'll be no end to it, he needs to show them he can still take care of himself. 

The struggle is brief, there are two of them and only one of him, but he gets in a couple of good blows with the cane that they'll be feeling. Still, they pin him down on the cot, forcing his face into the sheets, while they fumble with his pants. 

He's bracing himself for what comes next when the door opens again and another man enters. 

"Get off him," a quiet voice of authority says. "He's mine." 

The hands on him retreat and the guards stand up. House pulls his pants back up and turns around to watch the show. 

"Sorry, Doctor Wilson, thought you were through with him, you know, after what happened." 

"Cuddy got what she deserved, and House got what _he_ deserved. I'm through with my people when I say I'm through. Now get the fuck out of here before I remember your names and get someone to pay you a visit in the middle of the night." 

They pale. Wilson has a long history of making good on his threats, and the manpower to back them up, and leave quickly. House smirks at Wilson. “About time you got here, I knew you couldn't keep away." 

"Stand up," Wilson says in that same quiet, dangerous voice and House finds himself on his feet. He tries his best to look submissive and obedient but he's never been good at that, not even when he wants to be. Wilson is dressed in his best evening clothes, on his way to some event or other. House would at one time have gone with him, but tonight he's standing here, barefoot and in his prison garb, waiting to hear what Wilson is going to do to him. 

Wilson looks him and up and down and then House is knocked down with a wicked punch to his jaw that rattles his teeth. He stays down, staring up at Wilson. He doesn't try and protect his body from further blows, if Wilson wants to use him as a punching bag that's his privilege, especially after what House has done. 

"You made me look bad, House. Made me look like weak, like I couldn't manage my own people. I had to support that idiot Foreman just to keep control." Wilson kneels next to him and fingers the collar around his neck, tugging on it. "And now you have this, and you're stuck in this hospital so I can't take you out with me. You'll be making this up to me for a long time, you know that don't you?" 

House nods. He needs Wilson, without him he's nothing, just shark bait. He'll pay his debt to Wilson because he has no choice. 

"I was wrong," House says quietly, hoping to at least earn some forgiveness. "I went to prison, I paid the price." 

"You paid _their_ price, now you'll pay mine." Wilson rests one hand on the collar around his neck and with the other plays with House's hair, tugging at it gently - it's longer since he went to prison. "I'll cut this in the morning and shave you as well. If you can't behave well at least you can look good for me." 

"Yes, sir." House murmurs quietly as Wilson continues to pet him. 

"Such an idiot, House. If you wanted Cuddy taken care of you only needed to come to me, you know that." 

House leans into Wilson's touch, seeking forgiveness but Wilson steps away. 

"I have to go. I have a fundraising dinner tonight. Too bad it isn't a costume party or you could come with me," he laughs, seemingly amused at the thought of having House in tow, dressed in his prison uniform. "Go back to sleep, nobody else will bother you tonight, and tomorrow..." he pauses. "Tomorrow you can start making it up to me. I'll see if I can get your office back. I do like to be able to see you at all times." 

House watches as Wilson rises, brushing lint off his pants until he is the very image of the consummate medical professional. 

"Goodnight, House, I'll bring you a steak back." 

He waits until Wilson has left and then gets up off the floor and back onto his cot. He fishes underneath the mattress and takes out the cigar he stole from the oncology lounge earlier, lighting it with a stolen match. He sits back and takes a deep, satisfied puff. 

It's good to be home. 


	2. Transplant

The guards drag him away from his patient and the clinic as he yells in protest. His arms are twisted up behind his back. The cuffs bite into his wrists. His head is being held by his hair and as they round a corner it's slammed into a wall; he falls silent, his legs crumbling beneath him. The guards either side of him drag him through the corridors watched by silent inmates who turn away at the sight. Rather him than them.

He's taken down to the basement of the prison and stripped to his skin. The baton blows fall down onto his body until they become a blur of agony and then finally, blissfully, the world fades out. 

When he wakes up he's lying on the floor of a dark cell in solitary, still naked. An orange jumpsuit lies next to him. There's a bowl of water in the corner and a bucket for his waste. The only light comes from a grimy window out onto the corridor. There's a small sliding panel set low in the cell door, and, as he watches with puffy eyes and blurred vision, it opens and a tray of food is slid through, then the panel slams shut again. 

He eases his way gingerly into the jumpsuit and crawls across the floor to the tray, settling himself against the floor next to it. His head is killing him, and his stomach is cramping. Food is the last thing he wants but he knows better than to give back a full tray. He starts to scoop the mush out onto the floor and then sees it. A small piece of paper wadded up in the middle of the tray. With shaking fingers he unfolds the paper and reads the words, ' you were wrong, he died', it's in Adam’s handwriting. 

He wraps his arms around his aching ribs and leans his head against the filthy wall, his failure bitter enough that it takes the sting out of his physical wounds. He had been so sure of his diagnosis. So sure that he still had his gift. That he could be something other than prison scum. 

He stares at the opposite wall, alone and forgotten, buried here deep below the earth. 

The standard time in solitary is thirty days. He takes a finger and drags it through the dirt next to his head. 

This is the first day. 

* * *

"Doctor Park, come in." 

Park had been hovering in the doorway to the men's bathroom on the fourth floor, looking nervously from House to Wilson. House was sitting on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror, Wilson was standing over him, an electric shaver in his hands. As Park watched he turned it on and applied it to House's overgrown facial hair, gradually making his way along House's chin, his cheeks, and above his lips, trimming the scruff that had grown there. He appeared totally focused on the simple task, as intent as he would be in surgery. 

"I believe you are having some problems with Andrews." Wilson said, tilting House's head back with one hand, exposing his throat. He carefully swept the razor up the underside of House's chin. He held his head there, the long length of throat beneath his hand. His fingers rested lightly on the orange collar around House's throat as he turned to talk to Park. 

"I punched him," Park blurted out. "That night, when we were alone after the operation, he tried to..." she looked away, her words trailing off and her features hardening. "I punched him. Nobody does that to me." 

Wilson nodded, moving his hand to rest on House's shoulder and letting House's head go. "Understandable, but not very wise. Andrews is a lousy doctor, but he does have friends here. You need to learn to control yourself better than that." 

"Or put him out of action for good next time, a quick kick to the balls should do it." House couldn't resist putting his opinion in and Wilson tightened his hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight warning shake. 

"Maybe I could drive a car through his house," Park said and both men stared at her. House shot a veiled look her way and Wilson's eyes turned cold for a moment and then he laughed. 

"I can see why you want her, House." He gestured to a pair of scissors sitting on the bench. "Hand me those, Park." 

She picked them up and passed them to him, noticing that they were surgical scissors, their edges finely honed. 

Wilson turned back to House, running his hands through the length of hair. He held up the scissors, opening and closing the steel sharp blades. 

"Andrews won't bother you again." He began to trim House's hair, his hands moving deftly with the scissors as locks of hair fell to the ground. 

"What would I owe you?" Park asked bluntly. "Because if it's what Andrews wanted, you can forget it." 

"I don't take that from people who don't want to give it," Wilson said mildly. "You won't owe me anything. You have nothing that interests me. House needs people to work with him, he's chosen you. Your loyalty is all that I ask you to give." 

"My loyalty to him, or to you?" 

"They're the same thing. House needs you, and if House needs you, I need you." Wilson kept snipping away at House's hair while House sat perfectly still on the stool. Another doctor pushed open the door to the bathroom, looked from Wilson to House and quickly left again. Wilson smiled and kept at his work while Park stared at her new boss having his hair cut. From below the overgrown hair a much shorter style emerged, without being a scalping. It took years off his age and she could see now why House was apparently considered desirable around the hospital. 

Wilson finished with the scissors and took a step back, admiring his handiwork. "There, you look much more respectable now, House. A new life, a new look." He caressed the collar again, fingers lingering over the control box at the back. "This should be black, orange doesn't suit you." 

"Or blue, to bring out my eyes." House shot back, a mocking edge to his voice. 

Wilson tightened his fingers in the collar and House squirmed in his seat. Park watched both of them with wide eyes. Wilson let go of the collar, giving House a final pat on the shoulder. 

"Go to work, House. There's a surprise waiting for you in your old office." 

* * *

House limped into his old office, looking around in appreciation. All the old furnishings were back, and his toys, and his books. It was set up exactly as it had been on the last day he worked here, back over a year ago now. Wilson must have saved everything. His name was gone from the door but that didn’t matter. 

He went further into the office and ran a hand over the bookshelves in appreciation. There was even an Eames chair was in the corner, Wilson was nothing if not thorough. 

He looked down at his desk and saw that it had been set for dinner. On a fine china plate was a steak, with all the trimmings. There was elegant silverware next to it, a wine glass, and set next to everything a small bottle of Vicodin. He picked up the bottle, staring at it longingly. It had been too long. Pain drugs in prison had been difficult to obtain and he'd learned to make do on not many. To have his own supplier again, and to be able to take them whenever he wanted was nirvana. 

"Oh, come to papa, I have missed you so much," he crooned to the bottle, kissing the label with Wilson's name as the prescribing doctor. He popped the lid and gulped down two. He found that the wine glass was full of crystal clear water and downed that. He tucked the bottle of pills away in his jeans pocket, patting it afterwards, feeling the comforting weight sitting there. He sat down behind the desk and took up the silverware, preparing to eat. 

"You're going to eat that? At nine in the morning?" Park asked. 

He looked up, he'd forgotten she was there. He looked back down at the steak, it was cold, and the sauce it swam in was congealed looking, the vegetables shrivelled. He had no doubt that it was a mirror of the dinner Wilson consumed yesterday, at his fund raiser. Wilson had put it here for him to eat. He would not be pleased if House didn't eat it, but there was no danger of that happening. 

"Of course," he said, taking a bite of the steak and chewing obnoxiously in her direction. Compared to prison food this was easy to eat. 

Park shook her head in disbelief. She was still clutching a file, the one she had been carrying all morning and he held his hand out for it. 

"It's not much of a case, it looks like dehydration," she said, handing the file over. "I don't know why it has been given to us." 

House flicked over the first page of the file and leaned back in his chair, smiling. "The patient is sick, rich, and prone to giving money away. That bastard Foreman isn't an idiot after all." 

* * *

"You don't have to send two gorillas just to get me to your office, Foreman. Asking nicely would do it." House complained as he was shoved through the door into the office by two security officers. They'd more or less hauled him here, all the way from his office on the fourth floor. 

"Somebody for you to meet, House. I believe you know Doctor Adams?" Foreman gestured with his hand to an elegant woman seated before his desk. "She's been telling me some very interesting things about your stay in the prison. Apparently you were the talk of the place, I believe the guards found you very entertaining. Maybe we can arrange more of the same for you here." 

House shot a look at Adams. She'd patched him up a couple of times after particular bad beatings, but had never pressed him for details. The medical staff at the prison were expert at not seeing things that it was better for them not to see. He dropped his gaze from her cool, calm expression and glared at Foreman instead. 

"What's she doing here? Last I heard she got her ass kicked out of the prison and was up on charges herself. Thought she'd be doing time as some woman's bitch by now." 

"Fortunately for Doctor Adams she escaped a prison sentence, despite her reckless actions. She has been placed on probation for six months and will be doing community service here, working for you." Foreman leaned back in his office chair, a rare smile on his face. "She does not require a salary while she is on community service so that works out nicely. Doctor Wilson has indicated to me that he believes you will need more than one fellow." 

"I need Chase and Taub, not another clueless newbie." 

"You've got Adams and Park and you’re lucky to have them. Now get out of here and go cure the rich, white guy. Get what you can out of him and I might throw you another bone if you beg nicely." 

House opened his mouth to retort but then felt a light tingle all over his body and a slight vibration from the box sitting at the back of his neck. He looked at Foreman who was holding a small control, and still smiling that smug smile as he played his fingers over the control's surface. He shut his mouth and turned to go. 

He turned back at the door for a parting shot. "Thanks for the office and the girl, Foreman. Knew you wouldn't hold out for long." 

The tingle increased in intensity and he gritted his teeth against the pain, but he was rewarded with the smile disappearing off Foreman's face. 

* * *

"You lied. I was right, I saved his life." 

Adams shrugged. "Everybody lies, you told me that. It was a parting gift. If he died I'd be rotting in a jail cell somewhere." 

"You might wish you were, some day." House muttered. He looked up. Park was walking down the corridor to meet them. 

"First rule of prison, what happened in prison stays in prison. Keep your pretty mouth shut about it," House told Adams as he thrust the file at her. "Now take your little sister and go and find out what's bugging our patient, and think about how we can lighten his wallet at the same time. Guy's handing out cash left right and centre, if we miss out on our big wad Foreman's not going to be happy." 

Adams held the file in her hand and stared at him. House noted that she'd been spared the orange collar, and the prison shirt that he wore but on her pretty blouse was a tag, with 'Community Service Offender' written on it. 

"I lost my job thanks to you, and got stuck with this," she waved her hand at her tag. "Why should I give a fuck about your 'rules' ?" 

"Because you know what happened to the last woman who pissed me off." 

* * *

Wilson sat behind House's desk, calmly flipping through the patient's file when House entered with his 'team' in tow. 

"House. My patient died, I thought you'd like to know. If only your patient hadn't deteriorated on the table my patient could have had his kidney." 

"It was unfortunate, but nobody could have predicted it." House said with a smirk, his eyes never leaving Wilson's. 

"Indeed," Wilson said. He looked past House towards Park. "What do you have there, Doctor Park?" 

Park looked down at the shoe box she was carrying, as if seeing it for the first time. She glanced nervously at Doctor Adams. 

"Um, some shoes. Doctor Adams gave them to me." 

"Let me see," Wilson nodded at the desk and Park took the shoes out of their box and put them on the desk. Wilson lifted one up. "Somehow I can't see you wearing these, Doctor Park. Perhaps we can find a better use for them." 

Wilson slammed the sole of the shoe down against a small sculpture that sat on the desk, shattering it into shards. Park gasped and Wilson smiled. 

"Yes, these will do nicely. Leave us now please, Doctor Adams, Doctor Park. Good work today. You can return tomorrow, I need to have a talk with Doctor House about loyalty." 

The two women left the office and Wilson shut the door firmly behind them, and then the blinds rolled down the windows. 

"Damn," said Adams as she gathered her things together, "those were good shoes." 


	3. Risky Business

Doctor Jessica Adams is working in the prison clinic when they bring him in. His hands are cuffed behind him, and there is a hood over his face - a device she knows the guards use to subdue a fighting prisoner. Two guards hold his arms tightly and as they drag him over to a bed she can see he is lame in his right leg and struggling to keep his footing.

The guards dump him on the bed, roll him onto his stomach and remove the cuffs. They quickly strip his bloodied prison clothes off, leaving him in a grimy pair of boxers and then shove him over onto his back and use the built-in restraints to fasten him to the bed. His ankles are spread to the corners of the bed, and his wrists are held down by his side. They leave the hood on and she gestures to it impatiently. 

"I'll need to examine him and talk to him. Take that thing off." 

One of the guards rips it off his head and she can see he is gagged underneath the hood - a standard punishment for a prisoner that talks back to the guards. Over the gag a pair of bright blue eyes glare at her and she smiles at him, her blood quickening at the sight of the helpless man. 

"Take that out as well and then leave, I'll call you if I need help." 

The gag is taken out and dumped on the side table, along with the hood. Then the guards leave. 

She conducts an examination on the prisoner but finds only superficial wounds. He's been beaten but whoever it was they've done no real damage. 

"I'll clean you up and then you can go back to your cell, there's nothing serious and no need to keep you here," she tells him and he stares at her intently. 

"Make something serious." 

She's astonished into silence and he gestures with his head to the instrument tray. 

"I need a day or two in here, or I'll be in the prison morgue. Buy me some time." 

"I can't..." 

He laughs, although his eyes remain cold and steady. He stares at her, seeming to see straight through her into her soul. She thinks that it is as if he knows her every thought. Her entire life is laid bare before him. She shakes off the thought. He's just some waste of space prisoner. 

The prisoner is still talking. "Yes, you can. And you want to. A helpless man, bound to a bed? I could see how much you were turned on by the gag. I bet you want to put that hood back on me now, gag me again and then ride me until you get off. You can do that if you want, I don't care. Do what I ask and you can do whatever you want, just give me a couple of days in here." 

She fingers the hood where it lies, discarded by the guards, and looks back at him. She doesn't want that, she doesn't want to take him, but she does want to hurt him. 

She picks up a scalpel and approaches him, looking for the right place. He nods to his side. 

"In there, make it clean, in and out. Stitch me up and then put me on the sick list for a couple of days. No-one will ever know." 

"Close your eyes," she orders and he obeys. 

She smiles as she trails the scalpel along his skin. Today is a good day. 

He doesn't even scream. 

* * *

House was sleeping in his old office, now that Wilson had gotten it back for him. The Eames chair was comfortable enough, and Wilson had supplied him with a couple of luxurious blankets and a pillow. House had pulled the blinds enough to give him some privacy, but not so much that he couldn't see who was coming. He knew he was fairly safe from hospital staff now that Wilson had claimed him back. There weren't many who would want to risk his wrath, but a stranger had walked in off the street once and shot him and House wasn't going to forget that in a hurry. 

He lay under the blankets, watching the sunlight gradually creep into the office. Wilson had fed him dinner last night, and had promised breakfast this morning so that House didn't have to go down to the canteen and be given scraps. His Vicodin was comfortably within reach and he was warm and safe. His ass was smarting but that took the edge off the ever present growling of his leg. It was a good morning. 

It was his leg that finally drove him to get up, demanding a chance to stretch out. He did a few laps of the corridor, visited the bathroom and then returned to his office. His gaze lit on a pair of red shoes, tossed in one corner. He picked them up, noticing that they now looked very much the worse for wear. Wilson must have been working out while House was rotting away in prison. He went to drop the shoes in the trash and then smiled, retrieved the box they came in and took them to Park's locker. 

* * *

"Andrews is bringing me up charges," Park said as she hurried into his office. House looked up from his laptop. 

"You punched him. What did you expect? That he would send you flowers?" 

"Doctor Wilson said…" 

"Nobody is going to jump you in the elevator, but it's not some shield of invincibility. Andrews wants to look like a pathetic moron who can't handle someone half his size, nobody can stop him charging you. Why didn't you file on him for trying to rape you?" 

"I thought punching him would be enough." 

"Now you'll have a hard time proving anything. You won't get a prison sentence, not for a punch, but you'll be looking for another job. Nice to have known you." House turned back to his laptop. Park came over and slammed the lid down. When House looked up she was smiling at him. 

"I won't get fired. You want me working for you; Wilson likes to give you what you want. That's how he controls you. I bet he won't let me get fired." 

"Oh, you don't want to bet with me." House smiled without humour. "And you really don't want to say things like that about Wilson, he doesn't like it. Now, stop whining about Andrews and go and see about our patient. Another rich white guy, we're having a run of them - let's see if we can't do better with this one." 

As she went off he heard a whining sound from the office next door, the office that used to be his conference room. He looked over there. Some idiot from orthopaedics was using a cutter to remove a cast from a patient’s arm. The noise was intolerable. He hadn't survived prison so that he would have to sit here listening to that all day. Luckily he knew what to do about it. 

* * *

"I had a complaint about you today." 

Wilson was on their shared balcony, lounging on the chair he kept there, smoking one of his Cuban cigars. Standing in front of him House breathed in the heady aroma. Wilson wasn't likely to give him one while he was lecturing him. 

"Only one?" He quipped. He knew he wasn't in serious trouble; if he was Wilson wouldn't waste time like this. 

"From a Doctor Jade Morgan. Apparently you shone a light in his eyes and made him sick." Wilson said dryly. Wilson had little time for people who wouldn't fight their own battles. "Was there a reason or were you just being a bastard to make my life more difficult?" 

"He's in my office." 

"Orthopedics was given that room when you decided to get yourself thrown into prison. If you want it back you'll have to do more than shine lights in people's eyes." Wilson gestured to a spot near him with the cigar and House moved to kneel by the chair where Wilson indicated. His leg protested but he knew that Wilson wouldn't accept that as an excuse. Wilson waited until he was settled, quietly puffing on the cigar, and then took it out of his mouth and placed it in House's. His fingers came down to tangle in House's hair, petting it. House inhaled the smoke from the cigar and then breathed it out, watching the smoke ring rise up into the cool air until finally it dissipated. He smiled as he thought about Morgan. If Morgan thought he could win their little battle he should start making out his will, House played for keeps. 

* * *

"Andrews has dropped the charges." Park told him as she was leaving for the night. 

"What did you do to him? Threaten to kill him if he didn't?" 

Park produced a pair of red shoes. "Somebody left these in my locker. I suggested to Andrews that I would mail them to his wife, with a note saying that he left them in the hotel." 

House looked up at her deadpan expression and then laughed. "Good for you. Probably would have been easier if you'd threatened to shove them up his ass instead." 

"What makes you think I didn't do that as well?" Park gathered up her things and departed, leaving Adams behind. House picked up the red shoes and dropped them on her desk. 

"Your little sister is growing up. Get rid of those things and come to my office. I have a job for you." 

When she went into his office there was a belt sitting curled up on the desk between them. 

"Time to have some fun," he said and stripped his shirt off. Adams took up the belt and smiled. 

* * *

Wilson had come into the hospital early, intending to feed House some breakfast before he started work. He was enjoying the restrictions that had been placed on House. The collar around his neck, the inability to leave the hospital, the dependence that it had imposed on House. Wilson now knew exactly where to find him when he wanted him, and had more control over him than ever before. Even the coarse prison uniform appealed to him. It was frustrating not being able to take him out of the hospital when he wanted to, and show him off, but he could live with that in return for all the other benefits. For a while anyway. 

He pushed open the door to House's office, expecting to find him still asleep in his recliner chair, but instead he nearly fell over a body on the floor. 

His heart caught as he realised it was House. Not dead, but bound and gagged. Shirtless and face down on the floor, hands twisted behind him, legs locked together. His prison shirt had been tied around his head as a blindfold. 

Wilson bent down and realised that the bonds were white, hardened plaster - used for making casts. House was held as tightly as if bound by iron chains. Across his back were angry red weals, he'd been beaten, probably by a belt by the looks of the marks. 

He released the leather gag that was muffling House's words, pulling it out of his mouth. House looked up at him, jaw working, trying to get moisture back into his mouth. He went to the sink and poured a glass of water, holding it to House's lips so he could drink. 

"Morgan didn't like my trick with the light," House said, gesturing to one side. Wilson followed his gaze and saw the light was smashed and lying on the carpet. 

"Morgan did this to you?" 

"And a couple of his goons. Said I had it coming." House paused, taking a deep breath and then another sip of water. “He said that if I didn't leave him alone next time he'd shove the plaster saw up my ass and turn it on." 

Wilson stood up and looked next door, but the orthopedics room was deserted. He went through and picked up the plaster saw, coming back and putting it next to House. 

"Park and Adams will be here in a minute, they can cut you out of that. Then the three of you stay away from here for the day. I will take care of Morgan." 

* * *

Their patient was cured that evening, House having figured out the diagnosis while he was lying on the floor of his office, it hadn't been a hard case but it was a lucrative one. The patient had been persuaded to make out a generous 'donation' check to the hospital. Even after Foreman and Wilson had taken their cuts there was more than enough to fund Parks' salary with some left over. House, of course, would not receive a cent for himself. Well not officially anyway, he'd had some action on the side involving some share trading which had helped to swell a bank balance Wilson didn't know about. 

When House and the two fellows returned to the office they were greeted by the sight of the orthopedics office in darkness and deserted. Curious, Adams pushed open the door to the office and stepped inside. 

Every piece of orthopedics equipment except one been removed from the room, cleaned out as if had never been there. Adams' gaze was drawn to the only thing remaining. 

Suspended from the ceiling with a hangman's noose around its neck was the teaching skeleton the orthopedics doctors had used. Park gasped as she entered and caught a sight of it, and Adams stared, entranced. 

Every bone of the skeleton had been broken in half, and around the skeleton's neck was one of the official hospital staff name tags - the name tag belonged to Doctor Jade Morgan. 


	4. The Confession

Taub answered the door at the third knock, cursing whoever was interrupting his night with his daughters.

"Quiet! I just got them... " He trailed off as he saw who was standing there. 

"Wilson," he said, taking a step back. Wilson smiled at him and entered. 

"Doctor Taub," he said smoothly. He was dressed as immaculately as always, and he projected his usual air of affable amiability. Those who didn't know him would think he was a family friend, dropping around to see the babies. Taub knew better. 

"House said you declined his kind offer of a position working for him in diagnostics. I'm sure I can persuade you otherwise. You know how much House values your input." 

_Yeah,_ thought Taub. _I can tell that by the way he mocks me relentlessly. The only thing House values is having an audience for his genius and insanity._ He knew better than to voice his opinion to Wilson however. Instead he fell back on practicalities. 

"I'm back in cosmetic surgery now. With the babies I need more regular hours." 

"Of course, now that you have these delightful babies to care for." Wilson crossed the room to the double pram where Taub had just managed to get both girls to drop off to sleep. Wilson bent down to look at them, gently rocking the pram. "Beautiful girls, a credit to their mothers no doubt." 

"So I can't go back to diagnostics. I'm sorry Doctor Wilson, but I'm sure you understand. Under the circumstances. They are just babies you see." He was aware he was babbling, and that worse – Wilson wasn’t listening to him. 

"House asked for you. He needs you to start tomorrow at eight." 

"Doctor Wilson, I can't..." Taub protested, moving over to the pram. "I have the children for the next two days, even if I wanted to go back to work for House, I can't tomorrow. I'm sure he can find someone else." Anyone else, he added to himself. When House had been thrown in prison Taub had seized the opportunity to leave. _I should have taken the children and fled the country_ , he thought. 

"He wants you." Wilson said, leaning over the pram again. He picked Sophie up out of the pram, cradling her in his hands. Taub made a move towards him and then stopped himself. 

"Such a lovely child, it would be terrible if anything happened to her. If anything happened to either of them, don't you agree, Doctor Taub?" Sophie started crying, setting off her half-sister and Taub cringed at the noise. Wilson kept stroking the fine hair on Sophie’s head. "You'll be at the hospital tomorrow at eight." 

Taub slumped in defeat and nodded. Wilson smiled and handed him in the screaming baby. 

"Excellent. Maybe you can bring the children with you? I'm sure House will be delighted to see them. He loves children." 

* * *

"Hey boss, cool collar," Chase said, coming into the conference room and slinging his case down on one chair. "I like the shirt too, very fetching." He looked around the room. It was empty except for a handful of chairs, a small table and a couple of women. "What happened to our stuff?" 

"If you idiots had stuck around instead of going to convict country, and playing Mister Mom, it would still be here. That's your job, surfer boy. Go and find some furniture and whatever else you think we'll need. Don't screw anybody to get it, that's Taub's job - if little Taub is still working after Rachel got to it." 

Taub shifted uncomfortably, squirming in his seat. He had been months recovering from Rachel's frenzied attack. Trust House to know all the gory details, even though he'd been rotting away in prison for a year. 

House waved at the two women who were sitting at the table. "Park, Adams. Stay away from Park, Taub, the last guy who messed with her is still in recovery, and I'm sure you don't need any more damage down there." 

Taub crossed his legs and inched away from Park, only to be caught staring at Adams who was wearing a Community Service Offender badge - a freebie then, no wonder House had snatched her up, cheap bastard. 

"Watch out for her too. She's into pain, giving it, not receiving it, in case you were wondering, Chase. Chase likes to burn people, Adams - maybe you two could double date some time." 

House stared at them all and then broke into a wide grin. 

"What a delightful group of perverts. This is going to be fun." 

* * *

“What happened to Morgan?” 

"What happened to Morgan?" 

Foreman had caught up to Wilson as he was moving through the lobby of the hospital. Wilson looked at him blandly. 

"I believe he moved on to another hospital." 

Foreman scowled. "You can't just run off every doctor who has a problem with House, there'll be no-one left by the end of the year. You can't indulge him like that. The man's a criminal degenerate who assaulted his boss. He's here for punishment, not to have his every whim catered to." 

"The hospital needs him and we need the money he can bring in. Cuddy never interfered with the way I handled him, and I don't expect you to either. I backed you for this position; I can withdraw that backing at any time." 

Wilson turned to leave and Foreman put a hand out to stop him. Wilson glanced down at the hand on his sleeve and Foreman hastily let go. 

"There's something you should know, Wilson. Morgan didn't attack House. House staged that - he got Adams to beat him with a belt and then truss him up for you to find. He played you. He knew that if you thought Morgan had done it you'd take care of Morgan for him, and House wouldn't have to get his hands dirty and risk going back to prison." 

"How did you find out?" Wilson asked. 

Foreman stared at him. "You knew?" 

Wilson smiled. "Of course I knew. You think Morgan didn't deny doing it? If you put someone under enough pressure, it's not hard to tell if they are telling you the truth." 

"But you still got rid of Morgan? Wilson... " 

"House needs that space and he needs his team. You brought him back here, why? You wanted to humiliate him? To get revenge for how he treated you? Well, fine, you can do that, but if he's here I'm going to make sure he can do his work. If Morgan had stayed in that office sooner or later there would have been a situation which would require you to make a decision about whether House stays or whether he goes back to prison. House is worth ten Morgans, and you know that." 

"He can't be allowed to get away with these sorts of things, otherwise I'll be Cuddy all over again." 

Wilson smiled at the image, smoothing the crease out of his sleeve where Foreman had grabbed him. "What makes you think he's going to get away with it?" 

* * *

"I can shave myself, you know." House complained as he sat on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror, watching Wilson tidy him up. 

Wilson didn't stop moving the shaver over his chin, cutting his stubble down to a much neater appearance. "I hadn't noticed," Wilson said drily. 

"My patient needs a liver," House said, giving up the shaving argument. 

"I thought your patient had half of Pleasantville lining up to give him a liver?" 

"The 'volunteers' sadly started disappearing when Bob hit a streak of honesty and declared that he'd been fucking half the town, and screwing the other half over." 

"Too bad." 

"Yeah. So, liver?" 

"I can't just produce human organs out of my ass, House. Those are expensive, even for me. Is Bob rich?' 

"No, but he's interesting, I'd like to keep him alive for a little longer." 

"Well you'll have to think of another way. I got you Taub, Chase and your old office back, I'm not getting you a liver." 

Park chose that moment to tentatively peer round the bathroom door. "Um, Bob's liver is regenerating." 

"Too bad, we were going to give him Morgan's." House said, getting up off the stool. 

Park's eyes went wide and she looked around the room as if she might see Morgan's body lying in the shower cubicle. 

"Just kidding, Park. It wouldn't be any good by now." House left and Park stared at Wilson who was calmly putting away the shaver. He raised one eyebrow at her and followed House out the room. 

* * *

Park found Taub in the lab, going over the patient's lab results. Despite the regeneration of his liver the guy was circling the drain. They needed to find an answer quickly. She had other things on her mind however. She couldn't get the image of that skeleton hanging from the ceiling of the old orthopedics office out of her mind. She'd asked around and no-one had seen Doctor Morgan since that day, and several staff gave her a strange look when she asked. No-one wanted to talk about it. She'd thought she'd escaped a bad situation when she got away from her old boss Andrews but now she was wondering if she hadn't jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. 

"Why did you come back here?" Park asked Taub. "You have two children. You're an experienced plastic surgeon, why would you want to come back here so you can be kicked around by House and paid a fraction of what you could earn in your own specialty? It doesn't make sense." 

"Let's just say Wilson made me an offer I couldn't refuse." Taub replied, peering at a set of scans. 

"I think I should quit." Park said abruptly. She'd been thinking about it all morning and had finally reached a decision. 

Taub put down the scans and checked his watch; his daughters would be back with their mothers by now. He'd had to get emergency babysitters for them, something neither mother had appreciated, but there was no way he was bringing them into work with him. 

"It's already too late. Have you seen the way House looks at you, at all of us? He doesn't let people go, not voluntarily. Not until he's finished with them. And if House doesn't want you to leave, well, you don't leave." 

"There's no way out?" 

Taub shrugged. "There's always a way out, one of his fellows blew his brains out one morning. I'm guessing you don't want to do that." 

Park stared at him in horror. "Not really, no." 

"Well, the work's not bad, so there is that. And sometimes there's donuts." 

"Great." 

* * *

Wilson took House to the oncology lounge for the night after feeding him a good dinner. 

"You'll sleep here tonight. I'll lock the door so that no-one disturbs you. I don't want you going near your office until eight tomorrow." 

"Not that this couch doesn't look comfortable, but why not?" 

"I'm having some work done to the office. A surprise for you. They're doing it at night so your work won't be interrupted." 

"I don't like surprises." 

"Oh I'm sure you'll like this one," Wilson said with a smile. 

House grunted and laid down on the couch. He put his hand on his groin suggestively. 

"You joining me?" Wilson hadn't touched him that way since he'd come out of the prison. Punished him, yes, but not fucked him. House knew Wilson didn't like to do it on the hospital grounds due to some bizarre idea of professionalism; but it wasn't like they could go back to Wilson's place for a quick round or two, not with this collar tight around his neck. House was anxious to replace the unpleasant memories from prison with the sensation of Wilson doing it to him, filling him, owning him. He wanted to _give_ what was _taken_ from him in prison. 

"Remember what I said about paying _my_ price for what you did?" 

House nodded glumly. He hadn't forgotten although he had wished that Wilson had. 

"When I take you again, it will be special, for both of us, and it won't be in the oncology lounge." 

Wilson leaned down, taking House in a long kiss, his hands slipping inside House's prison shirt to tweak at his hard nipples. House groaned in pleasure, his body arching up to meet Wilson. Wilson pulled back and House slumped back onto the couch in frustration. 

"I will, however, continue to punish you when you need it. I suggest you remember that," Wilson said, smoothing down his dress shirt. He took his keys out of his pocket and went towards the door. 

"Good night, House, " he said, and then he left, shutting the door behind him. House heard the key turn in the lock. He was locked in until Wilson came back for him. 

* * *

"Doctor Park!" Park turned apprehensively. Wilson was coming up behind her as she walked towards the conference room. "I believe you've diagnosed your patient?" 

"Chase and House did," she said. She knew that if she'd been the only doctor on the case Bob would be dead. 

"House is a good teacher; Chase has been with him a long time. After you've been here a while your skills will improve." 

"I was thinking... I was thinking I might go back to neurology." Park gulped nervously. 

"That would be... unfortunate. House thinks you will work out well here. I suggest you give it some more time. How are your parents?" 

"Um... they're fine." Park replied, her insides twisting nervously, remembering the visit her dad had made, in her first week of working for House. Had Wilson seen him then? 

"Excellent. I'm sure you remember what I said about loyalty? I trust you will be loyal to Doctor House." Wilson glanced at the conference room. "Get the other fellows and meet me in the conference room in ten minutes." 

"Doctor House as well?" 

"Doctor House is otherwise occupied at the moment, he'll join us shortly." 

* * *

The fellows sat on the couch in the conference room, which was now facing the wall where some mysterious construction had been taking place. Strangely enough the wall looked exactly as it always had. 

Wilson entered and four pairs of eyes watched him curiously. He smiled at them all, his gaze lingering on Adams who shifted nervously in her seat. 

"Thank you for coming. I'd like to welcome the newest members of the diagnostic team – Doctors Park and Adams. It is an honour to work for Doctor House, as I am sure Taub and Chase have told you. This is a great opportunity for both of you and I am positive you will do well - as long as you remember where your loyalties lie." He eyed each member of the team in turn and then gestured towards the wall. 

"I imagine you've been wondering what work has been taking place at night. As you know your last patient gifted the hospital a considerable amount of money, some of that has been used to fund diagnostics. With the rest I have had some modifications done." 

Wilson pulled a remote control out of his pocket, pointing it towards the wall. At the touch of a button an entire section of the wall slid neatly upwards, revealing Wilson's office. 

At the front of the office, his back facing them was House. He was kneeling over a high padded bench, stripped to the waist. His arms were held along the top of the bench by a series of straps and cuffs, his legs were spread widely at the base of the bench, his ankles cuffed to either end of a spreader bar. There was a gag in his mouth and his prison shirt was wrapped around his eyes as a blindfold. His collar stood out starkly against his bare skin. 

The fellows all stared as Wilson went over to him, running his hand along the nearly healed welts on House's back. House twitched under his touch. 

"Your work I believe, Doctor Adams?" Wilson’s voice was cold as he continued to caress the welts. 

"He ordered me to!" Adams replied defensively. 

"If he gives you any further such orders you'll come to me. I'll excuse this once, never again. None of you will ever touch Doctor House in that way. That privilege is mine." 

Wilson reached around House to lift a curled up belt off his desk. The same belt that Adams had used. He shook it out. "Adams, you'll do House's clinic hours for him this week, starting now. Go." 

Her face fell and her eyes flickered between the belt in Wilson's hands and House's naked back. She made to protest but then paused as she saw the steely gaze Wilson was levelling at her. Without another word she got up and left. 

Park started to get up as well but Wilson skewered her with a look. "Sit. You need to see this." 

She sat back down between Chase and Taub, staring at her hands. Chase nudged her on one side, offering her a crumpled bag. 

"Have a donut." 

She took it because she didn't know what else to do. As she took a bite she heard the belt whistle through the air and land on bare flesh. There was a muffled grunt from the bound man. 

One. 


	5. Parents

_They come for him about an hour after lockup. They go through the usual routine of throwing him against the wall and patting him down, then lock his hands into cuffs behind him. A hood is placed over his face, blocking out his sight and he starts to struggle, this isn't part of the routine. A quick blow to the stomach doubles him over and he is dragged out of the cell.  
_

_They half carry him, half drag him down a flight of stairs and along some corridors and then down another flight of stairs. He hears some noise in the distance, becoming louder as they approach. Then a door is opened and he's shoved through it and the hood removed. Blinking, he looks around him. He's in a large gym. There's a group of prison guards in front of him, blocking his view of the rest of the gym._

_"Gimp doctor is here. Let him through, he can take a look at him."_

_The crowd parts and he sees that there are two prisoners in a boxing ring. Neither have gloves on, both are stripped down to their undershorts. One of the prisoners stands quietly, his body glistening with both blood and sweat. The other lies on the floor of the ring, not moving. His face and mouth are covered with blood. House is pushed towards him and then down on his knees. His cuffs are unlocked. He examines the man briefly and then shakes his head._

_"He's dead and I'm not the messiah, what the hell do you want me to do?"_

_"Clean it up and make it look like natural causes."_

_"His nose is smashed half way into his brain. Shall we try for suicide?"_

_"If that works. And one more thing, gimp." The guard produces a gun which he puts to House's head, his finger on the trigger. "What happens down here, stays down here. Got it?"_

_House nods slightly, his eyes never leaving the man. "Got it. You got any tickets for the next one?"_

* * *

After Wilson finished administering the punishment he dismissed the fellows and gently released House from his bonds, slipping the gag out of his mouth and taking the shirt off his head so he could see again. He helped House up and over to the couch in his office, making him lay face down.

"I think Park was suitably impressed with the show," he said. "I thought she was going to faint."

"Bet Chase had a giant boner and Taub was wishing he had the belt in his hand." House’s voice was thin, pain running through it. Wilson was pleased with him. He had taken his punishment well, as he always did.

"Watch Taub, and Adams," he warned. "They're not harmless, whatever you would like to believe, especially Adams. Don't give her power over you like that again."

"No, sir," House said, his words tinged with mockery. Wilson gave him a slap on his raw back and House jerked under his hands.

"You'll go without dinner tonight. I'll bring you something in the morning. You'll sleep here; you will not touch anything on my desk, or in the drawers. You'll leave this office only to use the bathroom. I'll be monitoring you from home." Wilson gestured at the camera in the corner of the office. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." House murmured, this time his voice was sincere.

Wilson tended to the lines on his back and shoulders, rubbing a soothing cream into them and then gave him his painkillers for the night.

"Next Saturday I have tickets for the Rubio fight," he said casually. "I’ll ask Chase to bring you some food and your medication."

House screwed his head around to look at him.

"I want to come to the fight with you."

"And I'd like you to come, but you're restricted to the hospital, remember?" Wilson gestured at the collar. "Even if I could smuggle you out of here that thing would have you back in prison before we got a mile, and I’d be joining you."

House laid back down and closed his eyes, exhaustion and pain catching up to him. "Leave it to me, I'll work it out."

* * *

The team trooped back into House's office to report that their patient, a teenage clown of all things, was now coughing up blood. House was sitting with his chair turned away and when he turned it to face them they could see he was cradling a young baby in his hands, stroking her soft hair with one hand, while the baby happily sucked on a teething ring.

"Hey!" Taub exclaimed and rushed forward to grab the baby. House tightened his hold for a moment, eyeing Taub.

"Let go of her," Taub yelled, lunging forward to retrieve his daughter.

House eyed him for a moment longer, and then shoved the baby up at Taub. The baby promptly began fussing and squirming, ignoring Taub's efforts when he tried to calm her.

"She didn't fuss like that when I was holding her. Maybe she knows a real man when she sees him."

"Why is she here?" Taub asked, checking Sophie over carefully. He hadn't told either Ruby or Rachel about Wilson's implied threat. Both women were still angry at him, and Rachel was talking about taking Sophia away. Taub had pointed out that he'd been gracious enough not to press charges for what she'd done to him, and that that could change. She'd subsided for the moment, but he knew that any mention of a threat to Sophia and she would be gone, taking Sophia with her. The two babies were about the only thing good he had left in his life and he wasn't going to risk losing them. Wilson wouldn't do anything as long as Taub stayed in diagnostics and Taub had resigned himself to another few years as House's whipping boy. Hopefully the lunatic would do something else to get himself locked away from all the decent, sane people.

"Ruby, that's the nurse you screwed not your ex-wife who did unmentionable things to your unmentionables, dropped her off, said she had to go polish her nails or something." House replied to his question. "Don't worry, I didn't tell her you were busy screwing that bottle blond with the plastic boobs in accounting."

"I wasn't, I'm not... "Shit, how did House always find out these things? "I'll tell her not to bring Sophie here again." Taub said, cradling the child to his chest, he couldn't help but notice that she was looking back towards House with her arms out. It was probably that stupid orange collar around his neck attracting her attention.

"Oh, we don't mind, do we team? It's not like we have an actual patient to cure or anything. Oh well, he's just an incompetent clown who cares what happens to him? Let's stand around admiring the baby instead."

"I'll find someone to mind her."

"Wilson might be free I think, you could ask him. He loves children." House said, leaning back in his chair and staring at him with that stupid smug grin of his.

* * *

"We're going to the American Association of Rheumatology conference in Atlantic City on Saturday. You'll be giving the keynote speech. Doctor Neusinger has pulled out at the last moment and I've volunteered you." Foreman was sitting behind his large desk while House stood before the desk, leaning on his cane. He was playing with the remote to House's collar, his fingers skimming periodically over the surface.

House looked down at himself, at the blue prison shirt with the word, 'prisoner' prominently written across the front. "Like this?"

Foreman shrugged. "Everyone in the medical community knows what you did. The hospital will look magnanimous for giving you a chance to redeem yourself. The organisers know the situation. I don’t expect any problems."

"And the prison is okay with this?"

"I've cleared it with them; as long as certain precautions are taken they have no objection."

"What sort of precautions?"

"That's none of your concern. I'll make this simple for you House, you do this, and you do it properly, or I'll take away your new office, and most of your team, and if that doesn't work I'll kick your sorry ass back to prison." He thumbed a button on the remote casually and House felt a shock travel through him, staggering him off his feet and to his knees.

"Fuck you, Foreman." He said when he had recovered his breath.

"No thanks, I have Chase for that." Foreman held his finger over the button again. "So, that's a yes then?"

* * *

"We're on for Saturday night. Big angry black men smashing each other to pieces, should be great," House announced as he sat down on Wilson's couch. He was probably interrupting Wilson's work but he didn't much care. Life was looking better this morning. Hopefully the night in Atlantic City would get Wilson in the mood for a little House fucking back at the hotel.

Wilson looked up at him with that mild expression of his, the one that fooled so many people. House felt himself tense up slightly. His shoulders and back were still marked and sore from the flogging Wilson had administered and he wasn't eager to have a repeat any time soon.

"Foreman agreed to let you go to a boxing match?"

"Foreman agreed to go with me to a conference so I can give some stupid speech. He wants to parade me around and show the other hospital boss's that he's got Doctor House on a string." House rubbed his right thigh significantly, his face contorting in a grimace for Wilson’s sake.

"Did you hurt your leg?" Wilson asked. The smile was wiped off his face like it never existed.

"Arrogant, jumped up, little bastard used the collar on me. My leg's still complaining. Don't worry about that, I got what I wanted."

Wilson narrowed his eyes, obviously annoyed. His hand strayed towards the phone then retreated.

"He's can't shock you for no reason."

"Only you are allowed to punish me, right?"

"Of course. So you're going to a conference with Foreman. How exactly does that translate into you going to the match with me?"

House smiled. "You'll see."

* * *

Chase met up with House in their usual place, the ward for long term coma patients.

"Good work on Taub," House said, giving Chase a crisp twenty. Chase snapped it and put in in his pocket.

"No problem. Mandy is so stupid she thinks it's real love between them. Crazy, doesn't she know he'll stick his dick into anyone who's shorter than he is?" Chase asked, taking the cigar House waved in his direction. "Why did you want to know anyway?"

House shrugged. "Knowledge is power. It could come in handy, could not. What else have you got for me?"

"Adams parents are about the most boring set of people you could find, no history of dysfunction there at all. She was married, now divorced, husband cheated on her."

"Poor bastard, she probably cut his cock off and kept it as a trophy around her neck." House puffed on his cigar, making smoke circles over the top of the patient in the bed nearest the wall. "So what motivates a woman from a rich family to start volunteering in prisons?"

Chase shrugged. "She likes watching people suffer apparently. What better place than a prison?"

"Lots of better places, like that club you frequent on 76th street."

"Nah, that's old hat. We’ve moved on. The one on 34th is better. You should come sometime. You know what they say about all work and no play."

House grunted. "The Man has been tied up here for now." He waved at the collar around his neck. "Have another job for you. Foreman needs an emergency on Saturday so he can't take me to the conference."

"Thought you'd want to get out of here for a while."

"I do, just not with Foreman. Wilson has tickets to the Rubio match."

Chase looked thoughtful. "Okay, I think I can swing that, but that's a step up from nosing around for information. What's in it for me? "

House put a hand in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He flicked the wick so that a bright flame sprung up between them. Chase's eyes followed it eagerly and then he smiled.

"You got a deal, boss."

* * *

Foreman was finalising the arrangements for the conference. This would be a major coup for him. Just about every medical conference on the East Coast put in a hopeful request for Doctor House's presence, whether to give a speech, sit on a panel, or just to mingle with the other guests. Foreman figured that none of the people doing the inviting had ever met House, or they wouldn't be so keen to have him at their conferences. In all the years Cuddy had been boss here she'd managed to get House to precisely one conference, and that was in Singapore. (Rumour was that House agreed to go because it was better that he was out of the country for a few days.)

Now that Foreman had House on a leash he intended to make the most of it, starting with this conference. The entire medical world would see that Foreman controlled House, when Cuddy had abjectly failed at it.

Of course he was taking precautions. They would drive to the conference and a security guard would go with them. House would be handcuffed in the car. Foreman had been thinking he would add a gag just so he didn't have to listen to the man the whole way, but human resources had vetoed that. House would be kept in a locked security cell in the hotel until his speech, taken out for his speech and put back there once he'd answered any questions. When Foreman was finished socializing with the other doctors he'd have House collected by the local police and held in their cells until the next morning while Foreman stayed at the hotel overnight. It would be a good conference.

Pleased, he began to pack up his desk ready. He'd have security fetch House in half an hour and put him in the car ready. He looked up, frowning, as his assistant burst into his office.

"Doctor Foreman! There's been an incident on the fifth floor and the nurses are all walking out, they're all leaving! You need to come."

Foreman looked up and saw a parade of nurses going past his office. Damn! It would take hours to get this sorted out, whatever the hell had happened. And he wasn't sending House to that conference by himself.

"Tell security to lock the front doors, and get Doctor Wilson down here."

* * *

Wilson drove to the conference with House lounging in the seat beside him. Wilson had dismissed Foreman's security guard and thrown the handcuffs in the back seat, where he could find them if he needed them.

"How did you arrange that?" Wilson asked.

"Oh, sometimes it's better if you don't know, plausible deniability and all that."

"Well, as long as whatever happened can't be traced back to you."

"No, my boy Chase knows his stuff."

"And what did it cost you?"

"Found him a couple of people who like to be burnt."

Wilson looked at him with that knowing look of his and House shrugged. "Well, a couple of people who weren't in any position to protest anyway. Strange hobby that boy has, but he's good at it, no permanent harm done."

When Wilson pulled up at the hotel where the conference was being held House looked at him in shock.

"What are we doing here? The match... "

"You still need to give that speech. We'll go to the boxing afterwards. If you're a good boy and give a nice speech." He passed House a sheaf of papers.

"And if I'm not a good boy? Are you going to spank me?"

"No, I'll put you in handcuffs and we'll go straight back to the hospital. And then I'll cane you."

House took the papers and got out of the car. He pushed past the startled hotel concierge who had been staring at his 'prisoner' shirt and the bright orange collar around his throat. Wilson smiled fondly after him and followed.

His plan had worked out perfectly. Foreman would never have agreed to allow Wilson to take House to the boxing. By putting the problem in House's lap by mentioning the Rubio tickets House had solved the logistics and now Wilson could show everyone at the conference just who controlled Doctor House, and he got to watch the fight with House, and afterwards, back at the hotel room, he could indulge himself with a long slow fucking of his troublesome sub. Pissing Foreman off at the same time was just a bonus. If Foreman thought he was in charge of House Wilson would show him just how wrong he was.

He patted his pocket where he'd placed the remote Foreman had given him. His insurance in case House decided to go off script during his speech. He'd learned from the debacle with Vogler. He'd give House a quick burst just before he went on, as a reminder. And when they got to the fucking portion of the evening, well, it would add a little extra spice. He'd have to see if he could get a copy made for his own use.

* * *

By the time Foreman finally made it home it was getting close to midnight. He'd managed to talk the nurses down but it had been a close thing, a couple of the lunatics from the fifth floor had gone into hysterics, yelling about mistreatment, and attacked a nurse. He had survived but the other nurses had taken it into their heads that they weren't being properly looked after. Foreman had promised extra security and sweetened the pot with some cash here and there and things had calmed down.

He was pissed he'd had to miss the conference, but at least House had been there, and had given a good speech according to Wilson who'd reported in earlier in the night. He hadn't liked having to send Wilson in his place, but he didn't trust anyone else with House and he'd given him instructions on how House was to be handled. House should be safely in custody now. He grinned to himself at the thought of the arrogant jerk again languishing in a police cell. Hopefully he'd get some more of the 'special treatment' he’d experienced in prison.

He got himself a drink and sat down to watch the fight he'd recorded earlier. As he sipped at his scotch his eyes opened wide as the camera panned across the ringside audience. Wilson and House, at the fight. House had a jacket on to cover his shirt and a scarf to cover his collar.

House looked straight into the television camera and laughed. He raised the glass he was drinking out of as if in a silent toast to whoever was watching.

Foreman carefully put down his drink and clicked the television off. Then he made a call to the police.


	6. Dead & Buried

House was crashed out on the bed, too drained to move. Wilson had given him the long slow fucking he'd promised, along with bonus extras. Wilson had used the collar around his neck to give him a buzz just at the height of his arousal, setting every nerve tingling and causing an amazing mix of pleasure and pain which had tipped him over the edge and had him coming as hard as he ever had in his life.

His whole body tingled with the after effects and there was a pleasant soreness in his ass. His leg barely hurt at all, so drowned out had it been by all the other sensations. On top of all that Rubio had knocked out his opponent in the third round and House had collected a nice two hundred in winnings from Wilson. And Foreman had been defeated. Life was as good as it had been for him for quite some time. 

He lay there bonelessly while Wilson went through his nightly primping ritual. It was apparently a lot of work keeping up those boyish good looks. House's bedtime ritual was usually stripping off his clothes, taking his Vicodin and having a pee. He was already naked, Wilson had popped the Vicodin into his mouth after their mind-blowing sex, and the peeing could wait for a bit. 

He was just drifting off to sleep when the door to their suite swung open and four uniformed policemen entered. He jerked back up but all he had time for was a brief shout of protest and then they were on him. 

He was rolled over and pinned down to the bed, his hands pulled back and cuffed behind his back, his legs pinioned by shackles. Rough hands pawed all over his body. Then he was grabbed off the bed and manhandled into a kneeling position on the floor. His mouth was forced upon and gloved fingers pushed in and felt around. Then hands were run through his short hair. When they found nothing his shoulders were pushed down and another gloved finger penetrated his sore ass. When he squirmed he was pushed down harder until he struggled to breathe. Finally they seemed satisfied and he was allowed to come upright in the kneeling position. 

"He's clean," one of the men reported. 

"Well of course he's clean, he's been with me all evening and we attended a medical conference before that where he gave the keynote speech. What do you mean by bursting into my hotel room like this?" 

That was Wilson's voice, as calm as ever but House could hear the steel in it. Wilson was _not_ pleased by the presence of the police. Which was good, because neither was House. 

"You're Doctor Wilson? You have custody of this?" The officer waved his hand at House where he was kneeling, naked on the floor. 

"Yes, he attended a conference with me earlier tonight; it was approved by the Department of Corrections. He was granted special permission to leave the hospital. Doctor Foreman arranged it." 

"Well Doctor Foreman reported that the prisoner also attended a boxing match tonight, which apparently was _not_ authorised. I have orders to take him into custody tonight, and he'll be sent back to the hospital tomorrow so the appropriate action can be taken." 

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. House recognised the beginnings of his charm offensive but he had dim hopes of it working here. 

"Look, officer, he's been good, he gave a good speech and I thought he deserved a treat, so I took him to the boxing." 

"And then you brought him back here, to your hotel room." The officer looked around the room, with the king sized bed, the only bed in the room, the rumpled sheets and the naked man on the floor. "Doc, I'm not going to argue with you. My orders are to take the prisoner into custody. Which is what I'm going to do." 

"At least allow him to get dressed, and to get off the floor. He's disabled; he'll be in pain in that position." 

The man conceded that that would be acceptable and in short order House was stuffed into his shirt and trousers. His hands were locked behind him again, but they left his legs free at Wilson's behest. 

House was taken down to the hotel's reception area and marched out to the waiting van. The last Wilson saw of him was the closed expression on his face as he was pushed in the back of the van and the door slammed shut. 

Wilson cursed Foreman for interfering with his plans for the night and then returned to the hotel room. He'd sleep and then go back to Princeton by himself in the morning. The police had promised to have House there for eight. 

* * *

House was taken to the local lock-up and shoved into a steel cage by himself. As a convicted prisoner it was deemed best that he didn't mingle with the yet-to-be-convicted drunks at the local police station. The cops hadn't removed his handcuffs so he sat with his hands between his knees at the back of the cage, in the middle, keeping a wary out on the cages either side of him. 

In one of the cages there was a solitary man, yet to be joined by any other drunks. He was weeping in the corner of his cell and House rolled his eyes, if he was crying now how was he going to handle it if he ended up doing a stretch? 

"Hey, shut the hell up, your wailing's keeping me awake," he yelled at the guy, keeping an eye out for the cops. They didn't like it if you yelled. 

The man looked up, his face a picture of desolation. House could see he was well and truly plastered, and he had a black eye. 

"Sorry, sorry, it's just...it's the anniversary of my son..." He started crying again, "oh....Drew..." 

House was pissed. An hour ago he was in a comfortable post-fucking haze in a hotel room, with prospects of round two in the morning and now he was stuck in a steel cage listening to this drunk whine about his dead son. 

"He was so healthy, just a boy, so bright..." 

"And then you back over him with your car and killed him. Yeah, shit happens, you'll never be the same again, when you get out of here go kill yourself and save everyone the trouble." 

The crying man looked up and straight at him. 

"I didn't kill him. Why would you say that? He died of fucking kidney failure, we went to four fucking doctors and none of them knew what was wrong with him. Fucking useless doctors." 

"Yeah, idiots the lot of them," House agreed. "His kidneys were fried? Why didn't they transfuse?" 

"They did, and then his lungs failed. And then he fucking died. Just like that. My poor boy." 

"And one year later you decide to get plastered and get into a fight to celebrate. Good going." 

The guy stared at him, anger chasing the grief off his face. He lunged for the bars that separated them. 

"You...You shut the hell up! Shut up! Shut up!" He screamed bashing his hand against the bars. 

"Keep your voice down or..." As House spoke the guards advanced on the cage, hands on their batons. "Too late. What's your name?" 

The guy was still screaming and House yelled at him again. "What's your name moron?" 

The cops burst into the guy’s cage and took him down, making good use of their boots and fists. They hauled him away with the guy now sobbing in pain, blood running out of his mouth and nose, and then there was a sudden silence as he shut up. 

Damn. Oh well, he should be able to find the case by the kid’s name - Drew, died a year ago today. He filed the information for future reference. Fried kidneys, fried lungs - cool. 

A cop came past the front of his cage and banged on the bars. 

"You, keep your fucking big mouth shut for the rest of the night or I'll find a better use for it. Got it?" 

"Yes, boss," House answered contritely, no point in riling these guys up. He laid down on the hard bench, hands going to his thigh to massage it. It was going to be a long night. 

* * *

Wilson arrived at the hospital at eight, walking straight towards Foreman's office. He paused as he went through the outer office. House was there on the hard chairs, hands cuffed in front of him, ankles shackled together. There was a bloodstain on the front of his filthy shirt and a cut along his right cheekbone. A police officer stood over him. House was staring expressionlessly at the far wall but Wilson could see that he was tense and nervous, most of his bravado gone. Whatever had happened to House in prison Wilson knew that he was scared of going back. 

Wilson gave him a small nod of acknowledgement and reassurance and then went through into Foreman's office. Foreman was alone, sitting at his desk, writing busily on some pieces of paper although Wilson was sure that he was merely putting up an appearance. He'd been waiting for Wilson. 

"I'm going to send him back to prison," Foreman said, apparently deciding not to bother with pleasantries. 

"You can't," Wilson said, his eyes focused on Foreman. "This hospital needs him, you know that." 

"He's a criminal, and he's taken every chance he can get to disobey me, and to make a mockery of his status." 

"He's done everything you asked, including funding his own department and giving a speech at a conference, the first one he's _been_ to in years, let alone spoken at." 

"You took him to a boxing match, Wilson. When he should have been locked up he was at a boxing match with decent people, and then you took him back to your hotel room to fuck him - I should have asked the police to charge you as well." 

"You need him, and you damn well need me. I backed you for this position Foreman. I can take that support away just as easily. He's done nothing wrong, _I_ took him to the boxing, and _I_ took him back to my hotel room. Neither of those things were House's choice. I decided to reward his good behaviour. If you hadn't interfered he would have had a good night and I would have brought him back here this morning with some of his frustration at being confined to the hospital gone. Ready to earn more money for this hospital, and to get this hospital back up in the rankings before we’re all out of a job." 

"If I don't send him back then it just sends a message that he can do whatever he damn well pleases." 

"If you _do_ send him back you'll lose everything that Diagnostics, and he, bring to this hospital." 

"Then we lose them." 

Wilson played his trump card. "You will also lose my support. In a battle between you and I the Board will support me, and you know it." 

Foreman looked at the outer office where House was sitting, his face clouding in anger. 

"You hate him," Wilson said, following his gaze. "He humiliated you for years, belittled you, and when you tried to break away you couldn't. You resent him for being a far better doctor than you'll ever be, and being able to take chances you can't. So you want to use your position now to take revenge on him, to humiliate him. Except, you can't, because he's not you, and what you do doesn't matter to him. You can destroy him, or you can use him. He's a tool, Foreman, use him and he'll do you a great deal of good." 

Wilson threw the remote control to House's collar on the desk. 

"If the only way you can run this hospital is to use that, or to send him to prison, then you don't have any control at all - and that's what you'll be telling everyone." 

* * *

House looked up as Wilson came out of the office. Wilson paused and looked down at him, a slight smile crossing his face, and then kept going out of the office. House relaxed slightly, only to tense again as Foreman came out, fingering the remote control. 

Foreman stood in front of him, looking down at him. 

"I could send your sorry ass back to prison, but I'm not going to. You'll do another ten hours of clinic a week, and you'll do them without complaint." He looked at the police officer standing nearby. "Take his shackles off. I've got him from here." 

The police office roughly hauled him to his feet and spun him around, jerking the cuffs off his wrists and then bent to remove the shackles. When he was done he leered at House. 

"See you next time, maybe we'll have some more fun." With that he left. House watched him warily until he was out of sight and then he relaxed and stretched out his sore limbs. He looked back at Foreman. 

"Get me a cane…" he started to say only to be felled by Foreman's punch to his jaw. As he fell to the ground Foreman caught him and kneed him in the groin. Then he dropped him and House fell heavily to the floor, doubled over. 

"Get your own damn cane and get out of my sight," Foreman growled. He turned on his heel and stalked back to his office, leaving House in a heap on the floor. 

House looked up through a haze of pain and saw the shocked faces of various members of hospital staff who had been passing by. He grinned to himself, Foreman was sending a message, okay, well he could deal with that. He hauled himself up using the chair and limped out the door. 

* * *

The fellows looked up at him in shock as he got to the conference room. He guessed he did look pretty rough. 

"What did you make, Chase?" House asked, easing himself into his chair. 

"Park bet $100 you were going back to prison." 

"Sucker." House told her. "Or wishful thinking? What about you, Adams? Who was your money on? I know Taub wouldn't bet, too busy with the kiddies." 

Park avoided his gaze and pushed a file across the table. "We have a case. Patient had an idiopathic anaphylactic reaction. It stumped two E.R. docs and an immunologist from Johns Hopkins." 

After he'd conducted the differential and dismissed the troops to do their thing House signalled for Chase to remain. 

"You're lucky Foreman didn't catch on that is was you who arranged for him to miss that conference." 

"Keep your mouth shut about that. Foreman's an ass but he's not stupid. He's gunning for me _and_ Wilson now. Remember if we go do down you go down." 

"I know. Don't worry, he's getting nothing from me." 

"Good." House lent back in his chair and surveyed his long term fellow, observing that he'd had both a manicure and an eyebrow wax since he'd seen him last. "I checked out the hotel's live porn feed while I was there, before we got on with... other activities, saw a familiar face. Looks like someone has been doing a little moonlighting on the side. 'Doctor Down Under'." 

Chase's eyes lit up. "Pretty good wasn't I? 'Course the whole Aussie shtick was overdone but what can you do?" He eyed House appreciatively. "Private performance for you whenever you want, boss. Or you and Wilson if you prefer, with or without the ropes." 

"Later. Got a job for you. Four year old boy called Drew died a year ago yesterday, unexplained kidney failure. We're going to cure him. Well, metaphorically speaking, seeing as he's dead." 

"Curing a dead kid, sounds cool. Foreman know you're doing this?" 

"Of course not." 

Chase grinned. "Great! I'll see what I can find out." 

* * *

Foreman looked up as the attractive young woman walked into his office. 

"Ah, Doctor Adams, have a seat. We need to talk. I have a proposition for you." 


	7. The Perils of Paranoia

Foreman came into his office, file in hand and stopped dead at the sight of House sitting at his coffee table calmly spreading some jelly on a piece of bread. Other bits of food, paper bags, and miscellaneous bits of garbage were spread out on the table. House looked up as Foreman entered and deliberately stuffed a piece of the bread into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously with his mouth open. 

Foreman felt in his pocket for the remote. You'd think House would learn eventually. Trouble was the guy was turned on by pain, giving him a shock was probably the equivalent of stroking his cock for him.

He just set the remote for a mild buzz and House stiffened as he felt it. His eyes widened for second and then he swallowed his piece of bread and smiled lazily at Foreman.

"Is that all you got?"

"The setting goes all the way up to lethal."

"Yeah, killing me would be a good strategy. Especially as you've got a case for me. Must be some important guy for you to carry the file to me personally like this."

Foreman kicked the level up a bit more and House jerked in his chair but kept grinning at him, like he knew something Foreman didn't. After a beat he put his hand on his crotch and rubbed it suggestively.

"When Wilson was fucking me, on our night away, he used the remote, gave me a buzz just when things were getting hot. Well, just between you and I, wowza! "

Foreman gritted his teeth, briefly debated pushing the dial all the way up to 'writhing helplessly on the ground level' and then deliberately put the thing down.

"Pick up your crap and get out of my office, you arrogant jerk. Cure this guy and be a good boy and ask nicely and I might let you stay instead of kicking you back to that prison where you belong."

House got up, leaving the remains of his breakfast where it was. He snatched the file out of Foreman's hands.

"If you had any intentions of 'kicking me back to prison' you would have done it last week when you had me all chained and helpless outside your office. Instead you just settled for a kinky scene to impress the peasants. You need me here, the Board wasn't pleased with the way PPTH slipped down the rankings without a functioning Diagnostics department. I heard that your ass was toast if you didn't get me out of prison." House went over to the desk and picked up the remote control before Foreman could stop him. He gave himself a mild buzz and grinned. "The more I feel this the more I like it, maybe you should try it yourself. I'm sure Chase would be happy to oblige, the boy swings both ways as I'm sure you know," he winked at Foreman in an exaggerated motion and then chucked the remote back at Foreman who caught it one handed.

"I'll let you know when," he peeked at the file, "oh, hotshot prosecutor, brilliant, just the type of person I like saving so they can spend the rest of their life making people miserable. I'll let you know when Tommy here is cured."

He arrogantly limped his way out of Foreman's office, leaving the sticky knife, crumbs, and other debris behind him. Foreman called for his assistant to clean up the mess and paged Adams. He might not able to send House back to prison, the damn perceptive bastard was right there, but he could find plenty of other ways to make his life more miserable than it usually was.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wilson met with two of his men in the small apartment that used to belong to Amber. The men were under the impression that he lived here, and Wilson was careful to keep up that appearance. After Amber's unfortunate death a few years ago he'd kept the apartment and had it carefully maintained. Her photos were still on the wall, some of her clothes in the closet, her coffee mugs were sitting on the small shelf in the kitchen. House had laughed when he'd seen it, called it Wilson's 'Cut-throat bitch shrine' and Wilson had merely smiled, and given him another six for his impertinence. The apartment served a purpose. There was no need for these men to know where he really lived. 

He served them coffee and pastries at the small table. They were roughly dressed, street clothes thrown over their uniforms. They'd come straight from their shift at PPTH, and seemed coarse and out of place in the immaculate apartment but Wilson served them as if they were the cream of Princeton society, he had discovered that if you treated men like this with sincerity and politeness they were more apt to be loyal.

The men would most likely not be recognised by many of the staff at the hospital despite the fact that they were there every night, and sometimes during the day, they were almost invisible as janitors. They had free access to every office, every lab, every room in the place. There was nowhere these men couldn't, and didn't, go. 

"Foreman is meeting with some donors on Tuesday. One of them is that guy from Goodyear, you know, the one with the wife who has the little drinking problem." Lou mimed putting a flask to his lips. Wilson nodded, he knew the man, and his wife, well. The 'little drinking problem' had resulted in a 'little car accident' for the wife last year, and a nice flow of funds to PPTH ever since, after some blood alcohol lab results had been smoothly switched for the donor. "The guy seems to think he's paid enough for his wife sins, he wants to see Foreman to renegotiate." Wilson knew that as well, he'd had a hand in it, he needed Foreman to be under pressure, more than the hospital needed another few thousand from the donor. 

Wilson nevertheless nodded at Lou and acknowledged his good work, you had to let people know you valued their contributions. Many of these people were very much like puppies, treat them well, give them praise and an occasional treat and they fell over themselves trying to impress. He turned to Carlos, who was the more savvy of the pair.

"Your report on Doctor House's team?"

"Chase is solid. He's visiting a club on 34th street regularly and he'll fuck anything that moves, and some things that don't, but he's loyal. He's spying for House but you know that. Taub is having trouble with those babies of his, juggling his schedule and spending time with the kids... usual thing. He's on the prowl again, but at least he's using a condom now - you might want to steer clear of sleep lab four if you don't want to see him in action." Carlos made a face and Wilson smiled agreeing, he had no wish to see a naked Taub. "Park is as dull and earnest as she appears. She's taking anger management classes if you can believe that. Can't see a problem there, she lives with her parents, so if you ever need a pressure point that's it. Adams is who you need to watch. She's been having 'meetings' with Foreman. And she blames House for what happened to her. They're planning something, haven't been able to find out what yet, but we're working on it."

Wilson nodded. "And Doctor House?"

Lou spoke up, he had the most to do with House, having nurtured a relationship of sorts with him - House regularly beat him at poker and thought Lou was working for him. "He's doing okay. Hasn't tried to get out of the hospital. Keeping his head down mostly. He's been stealing some things here and there, clothes, food from the lounges, some pills. He's going up to the roof a bit but he doesn't seem to up to anything."

Wilson begged to differ, House always had some scheme going. He didn't like the sounds of him stealing pills - Wilson was supposed to be his sole source of Vicodin. He told Lou to keep an eye on the situation and see if he could find out more about the pills, where he was getting them from and where he was stashing them. He paid both men, handsomely, and saw them out the door. Looking around he called his cleaning lady to come in and clean the apartment so it was fresh again and made his way into the hospital.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adams and Park were investigating the home of their newest patient when they came across his secret room. Park stared at the row of military rifles, the handguns, the explosives in the underground bunker. Adams looked around with cool appreciation.

"You report in to House, I'll get some samples from in here, there might be some contaminant. He's probably the only one who comes in here which would explain why he's sick and no-one else in the family is." Adams said and Park nodded and went outside the room to get better reception for her phone. Adams checked that she was well clear and began to take samples.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"My patient has an arsenal of weapons in a secret room in his house," House said, as he sat in the cafeteria with Wilson who had bought him some lunch. House's prisoner shirt, and the collar around his neck garnered him some looks from the visitors to the hospital but they chose to mind their own business, looking the other way and hoping not to get contaminated by the criminal in their midst.

"Weapons?" Wilson looked up, his gaze sharp. "Who went to the house?"

"Park and Adams. Adams doesn't like Park, and Park is frightened of Adams so I thought it would be fun for them to spend some time together. Also I was hoping that the cops would turn up, what with Adams being on probation, but they mustn't have made it there in time."

Wilson was about to answer when his cell phone chirped. He looked down at the screen and frowned.

"We need to get back to your office." 

"Why? Is there a hooker waiting for me there?"

"Foreman is having it searched," Wilson said grimly. 

As they approached diagnostics House could see Foreman standing in the small office, and three security goons turning the place over. He started forward, raising his cane but Wilson held him back.

"Let me deal with this," he said firmly.

House shook off his hand angrily but Wilson tightened his grip on his arm. "House." 

They locked eyes for a moment and then House lowered his eyes and nodded. Wilson gave his arm a squeeze and went over to Foreman.

"You should have consulted with me."

"And have you tell House so he could hide it?" 

"What is it you're looking for? He doesn't have anything. He's been cooped up in this hospital for all but one night of the last few weeks. What exactly do you think he has?"

"He's House, he steals stuff, we're looking for contraband, anything he shouldn't have." Foreman looked away and Wilson received the impression that he knew exactly what he was looking for and expected to find it. The rest of this was just for show.

The guards were picking everything up and dumping it on the floor, all House's books and the assorted paraphernalia that Wilson had stored for him while he was in jail. A model of a skull smashed when it hit the ground and Wilson glanced at House to see him staring rigidly at the remains.

"Foreman... " Wilson said warningly, "stop this."

Foreman had opened his mouth to reply when one of the guards came over with a small candy container in his hands. He gave it to Foreman who opened the top and smiled when he looked inside. He showed the open bottle to Wilson and then took one of the tablets out.

"I think we all know this is Vicodin, not sugar candy," Foreman said, examining it, "got a prescription for this Doctor House?" The last two words were said mockingly.

"You know I take Vicodin for _my pain."_

"Oh yes, we all know about _your pain_ Doctor House. And I know that the only Vicodin you are supposed to be taking are the three doses Doctor Wilson gives you during the day, single doses, which he is to watch you take. This is contraband. There will be an investigation, and a hearing."

Foreman pocketed the Vicodin but kept watching the goons. Wilson again had the sense that Foreman was looking for something specific. 

One of the guards had taken a framed picture out of the desk and Wilson caught a glimpse of an old photo of Blythe before House was advancing on the guard, his cane raised. 

There was a shout and then a brief tussle before House ended up on the floor, his body jerking as Foreman activated the remote to the collar. 

"That's enough, Foreman. He's had enough. Leave it!" Wilson shouted and Foreman took his finger off the remote and House lay still for a few seconds before he began to get groggily to his feet, head shaking from side to side. The guards hauled him bodily to a kneeling position and cuffed his hands behind his back, one of them kicked the cane out of reach, breaking it in half as he did so.

Wilson heard a gasp and looked up to see Park and Adams in the doorway, Park with her hand up to her mouth, Adams with a satisfied look on her pretty face.

They all stood there as the guards finished searching the office, nothing was left untouched until there was a pile of books and papers on the floor. They'd found a few more pills and a stash of candy bars and other junk food from the vending machines but Foreman frowned. 

"That's it?"

The guard shrugged. "Yes, there's nothing else." He looked down at the kneeling House, still dazed from the shock blast, his mouth happening open slightly, his eyes unfocused. "What do you want us to do with him?"

"Uncuff him and leave him here for now. Take that food and dump it, I'll take the pills."

Foreman knelt besides House, tugging his head up. "I'll be in touch about the pills. At the very least there'll be an administrative punishment for that. I'll let you know when the hearing is." He stood up and looked at Wilson. "If I find out you had anything to do with the extra pills..."

Wilson ignored him, gesturing to Park and Adams to help their boss onto his lounger. The guards and Foreman left the destroyed office.

When House was settled Wilson waved the fellows away, telling them to get back to their patient. When he and House were alone again Wilson slapped him across the cheek, rocking his head. House's eyes opened wide but became more focused and his mouth snapped shut.

"You idiot, you just had to steal pills didn't you?"

House rubbed his stinging face and shrugged. "I need extras."

"I give you enough. You get the prescribed dose."

"I'm a fucking addict Wilson, what do you expect?" House said wearily, looking around at the mess they'd made of his office. He caught sight of his snapped cane and groaned. "Shit, that was my favourite."

"Get Chase to buy you another one," Wilson said. "He'll enjoy that. What was Foreman looking for?"

"The pills?"

"No, they were just a bonus, he was looking something he didn't find."

"Maybe it was this," Park was standing at the doorway, a bag in her hand. At Wilson's impatient look she came into the office and took a handgun out of the bag, offering it to Wilson.

Both men stared at it and then back at Park.

"Adams took it from the patient's home. You remember we told you he had an arsenal there." She said to House. "Adams took some samples."

"And planted it in my office," House said, looking with admiration at Park. "You spied on her, and hid it. You are learning quickly young Padawan."

"Adam, I trust not. Hates you, she does." Park answered and House grinned at her. Wilson wasn't so amused.

"If he'd found this gun you would have been straight back to prison."

House reached out a hand for the gun but Wilson held it away from him. "He can send me 'back to prison any time he likes, he doesn't even need an excuse. They told me that when they released me. He won't do it because the donors are breathing down his neck about PPTH slipping down the performance rankings. Diagnostics is the only department in this shithole that has a reputation beyond New Jersey. He needs me here."

"So why did Adams plant it then?" Park asked. 

"It's not House he's after, it's me." Wilson said, his eyes locking with House's. "Every infraction House commits, every time something like this happens, it reflects on me. It makes it appear that I can't keep my people in line. He's playing the long game. If he'd found the gun he would have used it for leverage."

"How does it feel to be a pawn?" House asked Park. 

"I... I think I should have gone to cookery school like my Mom said." Park said glumly. "Are you going to fire Adams?"

"Hold your enemies closer," House said, "we know what she is. She could be useful."

Wilson handed Park the gun. "Go and get rid of this."

"Don't shoot anyone," House added helpfully. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

House's disciplinary hearing was held the next day in the special conference room in the basement. Besides House & Foreman every department head was present, as well as two representatives from the board and a bored looking man from human resources.

House didn't bother to offer a defence to the charges so Foreman quickly pronounced him guilty and read out the sentence.

"Doctor House, you have admitted to obtaining fifteen Vicodin tablets without a prescription. You refuse to say who gave them to you. The penalty is fifteen strokes for the first offence, five for the second." He nodded to the two guards standing either side of House and gestured to the whipping post. "String him up."

House shook off their hands and took off his denim shirt, turning his back on the assembled doctors. There was a gasp from some of those present when his bare back was revealed.

Across his shoulders, down to mid-back was a collection of bright red welts, lash marks. He'd been well whipped, and recently.

House grinned at Foreman, showing him the damage.

"Wilson got there first, you bastard," he whispered, "and it was magnificent." He brushed his hand casually over his crotch, leering at the enraged man.

Foreman glared at him and then looked at the guards.

"What are you waiting for? I said, string him up." He gestured towards the whipping post at one end of the room.

One of the Board members, an elderly woman stood up and shook her head.

"He's been punished Doctor Foreman. I think that's sufficient. Doctor Wilson has always been trusted by this hospital to deal with Doctor House's... problems. It looks like he hasn't spared him in this instance, I see no reason for that policy to change."

The others followed her lead, getting up to leave, some of them looking apologetically at Foreman, some appreciatively at Wilson, and a couple brushing past close to House to get a better look.

Wilson came up to House and slapped him on the back. House hissed in pain and Wilson smiled.

"There'll be no more stolen pills, will there, House? Put your shirt on and go cure your patient so he can go back to preparing for the apocalypse. I need to have a word with Doctor Foreman." 

House shrugged his shirt back on over his stinging back and limped out the room using his new cane. He shut the door firmly behind him. Chase and Park were lingering outside, looking awkward with each other. Apparently he'd interrupted something. He groaned.

"Chase, not another team member. Don't you remember what happened with Cameron? You're lucky to still have your balls after _that_ , don't you ever learn?"

"Hey, _she_ asked _me_ out, boss." Chase said, falling into step with House. "Don't worry, I'll go gentle with her."

"It's not her I'm worried about. She has a gun now."

"She does?" Chase's eyes lit up and he looked at Park with new appreciation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adams looked into House's darkened office. There was no sign of her boss. She didn't know what had gone wrong, or how the guards had failed to find the gun. Foreman had been unimpressed and Adams wanted to show that she could be useful. There had to be something incriminating in House's office, they just hadn't looked hard enough. 

She went into the room quietly, her way lit by House's desk lamp, there was a drawer open and she headed for that.

She heard the slight noise a split second before her feet were jerked out from underneath her and she found herself rising into the air, rough ropes surrounding her. She struggled to free herself , her heels catching in the gaps between the rope. She was caught in a net, and now hung, suspended, from the ceiling.

"House!" she yelled out, "let me down, you bastard." She couldn't see him but she knew he'd be there somewhere. She kicked against the ropes, sending the net swinging.

The lights clicked on and she looked up to see Doctor Wilson standing in the doorway staring at her. He was not smiling.

"Doctor Wilson, I was just..."

"I warned you once, Doctor Adams. Don't fuck with me, and don't fuck with him. There won't be another warning."

"I haven't done anything, I was just coming to get a file from House's desk. Let me down," she said, swallowing hard as his expression didn't change. "Please," she added.

He clicked the lights off, leaving her in darkness.

"Goodnight, Doctor Adams."


	8. The Better Half

Wilson sipped his tea from a china cup and ate one of the delicate home baked cookies. Cranberry and pistachio if he wasn't mistaken.  


"These are very good, Mrs Doolin." 

He'd been invited to tea at the house of one of the hospital Board members, the elderly lady who had intervened on House's behalf at his disciplinary hearing and saved him from receiving another twenty lashes on top of the ones Wilson had already administered in private. 

"I'm glad you like them, James. I hope Gregory has recovered somewhat from his beating?" 

"He's fine, Mrs Doolin." 

"You need to keep a better eye on the dear boy, first going to prison, and then this... unsavoury incident." She smiled indulgently. House had diagnosed a cousin of hers some ten years ago and she had never forgotten it, she'd been a good ally to Wilson ever since. He had been counting on her intervening during the hearing, and had arranged for her to be one of the board members attending. 

"I will, Mrs Doolin. Thank you for your help at the hearing." 

"You're welcome, dear. Have another cup of tea." 

Wilson had another cup of tea, another couple of cookies and talked about some other hospital matters with her and then excused himself to return to work. She saw him to the door and then placed a hand on his arm. 

"Oh James, that charming young Australian that came before? Perhaps he would like to visit again?" She smiled. "Such a lovely young man." 

Wilson grinned and patted her hand. "Of course, Mrs Doolin, Chase would be honoured to join you. On Saturday?" 

"That will be fine, I have some new... things to show him." 

* * *

Foreman sat down at the conference table and placed a patient folder in front of House. 

"Your new case." 

House stared at it, without making a move to take it. "And you're here because...?” 

"You're down a team member. Adams called in sick." 

"No stamina, these young people. Hanging about the office all night and they think they can't work." 

"I don't care about Adams," Foreman said. "I do care that you think you can get away with any sort of crap you want. So I'm supervising you on this case. Put a foot wrong and you can go back to that prison." 

House yawned. "Same old threat, we both know you aren't going to do that. Park!" Park jumped a little in her seat at his shout. "Pass that file to me. I don't want to get Foreman cooties from handling it." 

Park stared between House and Foreman with wide eyes and then gingerly handed it over. House leaned back in his chair and idly leafed through it. "When Foreman worked for me he always thought that if he was running the Department he'd do a better job than me. He thinks this is his big chance to show me that he's more than just a fancy stuffed vest. Give a man a little power and it goes right to his dick." 

The fellows were looking between House and Foreman as if they were at a particularly compelling tennis match. Park looked terrified, Chase amused and Taub was doing his best to project complete boredom. 

"You notice though that Foreman's only a big man when I'm wearing a collar and a prison shirt." 

"You deserve to be wearing both those things, and nothing would please me more than to see you rot in prison for the rest of your life." 

House threw the file back on the table. "You need me more than I need you. So get the fuck out of my department and let me get on with my job." He turned to the fellows. "Go and test Alzheimer man. And don't do whatever it is Foreman tells you to do." 

The fellows left as quickly as they could and Foreman was left alone with House. 

"You're just making yourself look bad, you know." House tipped his head back, surveying his 'boss'. "I'm two steps ahead of you all the time. Call off the war and I'll stay the fuck out of your way and we'll both be happy." 

Foreman's fist was balled up by his side. He put one hand on the chair House was sitting on and leaned forward, his breath hot on House's face. 

"House, lunch!" Both men turned to see Wilson standing in the doorway. He looked calmly at House, ignoring Foreman for the moment. "Go and wait for me at our table." 

House stood up quickly, gathering up his cane. He left without another word. When he was out of earshot Wilson turned back to Foreman. 

"House is _my_ responsibility, _I_ discipline him, _I_ control him. Do I make myself clear this time? I won't keep repeating it for you." 

Foreman folded his arms over his chest. "I'm the Dean of this hospital. House works for me." 

Wilson shook his head. "No, he doesn't. He didn't work for Cuddy and he doesn't work for you. He works because he has to, he has no choice. It's his gift, and his curse - he's driven to diagnose, he can't _not_ do it. He's a tool you can point in the right direction but he's not yours. He _allows_ me to control him because he needs someone to, but he will never allow that someone to be you. The sooner you realise that the easier your life will be and the more the hospital will benefit from his unique abilities." Wilson handed over a piece of paper he'd been carrying. "House's parole officer is going to contact you about allowing House to leave the hospital, and removing the collar. You'll agree to it." 

Foreman laughed. "Like hell I will." 

"You'll agree to it or you'll lose your position here and House will still be freed. Your choice." Wilson walked out without giving Foreman a chance to reply. 

* * *

"About time you got here. They wanted to give me scraps." 

House was sitting at their usual table reading some sort of comic book. From this table Wilson could keep an eye on the whole cafeteria. It was amazing what you could learn about people when they were relaxed and eating. He put down the fully laden tray he'd just procured for them. There were two drinks, but only one plate. 

"I believe that was part of Foreman's conditions for your being here. That you were to eat whatever was left over." He pushed a chocolate milkshake over to House. "I won't make you eat their scraps, but you can eat mine." 

He took up his sandwich, ignoring House's pout. He'd been keeping House well fed, but it didn't hurt to remind him just who was in charge here. 

"What did you want to talk to Foreman about?" 

"I'm arranging to have you released from some of the conditions of your parole." 

House stopped his noisy slurping of his milkshake and stared at him. "Foreman will never agree to that." 

"I've told you before. Leave Foreman to me. Please don't aggravate him further in the next day or two. If he loses too much face he's going to double down and make the situation impossible. In fact if you could arrange for some sort of win for him on this case that would help him see this as the correct choice." 

House shrugged. "I already know what's up with the patient. Foreman wants to get all up and involved with this case. I'll lead him to the diagnosis - let him think it's all him. That should do it. I'll have to get Chase and probably Taub to keep their mouths shut but neither of the idiot newbies will get there before him." 

"Good. If everything goes to plan you will be able to leave the hospital, and get rid of that ---" he waved his hand at the orange control collar that sat around House's neck. Wilson had never liked the colour. 

"Thanks," House said, his tone sincere for once. He ducked his head and looked away. 

"You're welcome." Wilson picked up half of his sandwich and handed it to him. House took it happily and began eating. 

* * *

Foreman regarded the people he was video conferencing with, and resisted the urge to throw something through the screen. The couple were a major donor to the hospital, but they were threatening to pull out because of the hospital's fall down the ranking tables. It stuck in his craw to have to give the credit for the hospital's previous success to the diagnostics program - and to promise that things would be better now that it was up and running again. 

It was the reason he'd pulled strings to get House released early. He'd hoped that the conditions of his parole would intimidate and humiliate the man enough that he wouldn't be a problem for Foreman to control. So far that plan had been a complete failure, because the only trump card that Foreman had - sending House back to prison - was one he wasn't willing to play, and House knew it. 

The elderly donor couple were still droning on, and Foreman was thinking up random acts of violence he could use against them when Foreman saw it - the diagnosis for House's patient. It was clear as day. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. It wasn't often that he could reach a diagnosis before House. Maybe the time in prison had addled the man's brain. 

As quickly as he could he got rid of the donors and then he hurried off to present his diagnosis to House. He wanted to see the man's expression when Foreman solved the case before him. He might have to give in to Wilson on the question of House's parole conditions, but he could have this victory. 

* * *

"It was Reye's syndrome." House was sprawled on Wilson's office couch, feet up on the coffee table and a satisfied smile on his face. "I thought the guy was going to die before Foreman came up with the answer. Then you would have had to come up with another plan to soothe his ego." 

Wilson sat down next to him and lit up a cigar. He puffed a few times and then handed it to House. 

"So why do you want to get me out of this," House indicated his collar. "I thought you liked having me confined to the hospital, and at your mercy." 

"It had its attractions," Wilson said smoothly, taking the cigar back. "But I have other plans that require a bit more freedom for you. And that collar, and the shirt, are not aesthetically pleasing to me." 

There was a quiet knock on the door and a technician entered tools in hand. 

"I have orders to take off a correction collar." She looked at House, taking in the 'prisoner' shirt he still wore and the bright orange collar around his neck. "This the one?" The question was directed to Wilson. 

"Yes. On your knees, House." 

House pushed up off the couch and knelt on the floor, his head down so the technician could get at the fastening on the collar. 

It only took a few seconds and he felt the pressure of the thing releasing. He went to get up but Wilson put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down. 

"You've got my special order?" He was talking to the technician, not to House. House shifted nervously, wondering what the 'special order' was. 

"Yes. Should I fit it now?" 

"Go ahead." 

House felt something being put around his throat and fastened at the back of his throat. 

"Hey!" He'd only just gotten rid of one collar, he didn't want another one. 

Wilson quieted him with a hand in his hair, promising pain if he misbehaved. "Quiet, House. Let her finish her work." House felt cool fingers on the back of his neck, adjusting the fastening. 

"Okay, that's a good fit. This is the remote, Doctor Wilson. It works the same as the other one but without the proximity restrictions. So he can leave the hospital if you want," the technician explained as she handed over an electronic object to Wilson. He took it, running his fingers over the surface. 

"Thank you, you may leave." 

House heard the door open and shut. Wilson came around in front of him and knelt down to touch the collar around his neck. 

"It's black. Looks much better than the orange one." 

House reached up to touch it, feeling leather under his fingers instead of the plastic of the previous collar. "Why..." 

"So you don't forget who you are, and who you belong to, and go and do something stupid again that takes you away from me for over a year. Because I like how it looks on you." Wilson stood up and motioned for House to get to his feet. "You're free to leave the hospital and go back to your apartment. You don't have to wear that shirt anymore and you can eat when and where you want. The collar isn't a Corrections department one and only I will have the control. Foreman can't use it to hurt you now." 

As he talked he was working to strip the coarse denim prison shirt off House. When he was finished he went to the closet in his office and brought out a t-shirt. 

"I had Chase pick this up for you from your apartment. Put it on. " 

House pulled it over his head, his fingers brushing against the collar in resignation. 

"I can go back to my apartment tonight?" He asked. He hadn't been back to the place since his arrest, but he knew that Wilson had seen to its upkeep. 

Wilson smiled. "No, I'm taking you to mine tonight. It's been a long time. We've got a lot to catch up on." He came closer and stroked the black collar around House's neck. "And I need to test this. You had too much freedom before. That was why you got into trouble. This time I'll be keeping you on a much shorter leash. The time for training wheels is over." 


	9. Runaways

"Why here?" Adams asked, looking around the seedy diner. When Wilson had contacted her for a meeting he'd given her this address. She'd sat in her car outside for at least ten minutes, watching the place before venturing in. Her last encounter with Wilson had ended in her being stuck in a net suspended from the ceiling in House's office, caught in a trap he'd set for her. He'd left her there all night, sending a minion sometime around dawn to release her. "We're thirty miles from the hospital."

"Exactly." Wilson ate some more of his breakfast. "I have a proposition for you."

"Go on."

"You're spying on House for Foreman." Wilson said flatly and it wasn't as if she could deny it. "That isn't very loyal of you."

"I don't owe him any loyalty. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be stuck doing community service and working at that dump of a hospital."

"You were working at a prison before," Wilson pointed out mildly. "PPTH may have its problems but I think it's a step up from that."

"If you know I'm working for Foreman why do you want me to stay in the hospital? I put in a request for a transfer but it was denied. I know that was you."

"House wants you on his team. He doesn't let people go easily. Even people like you. He thinks you have something of value to add as a doctor - a different viewpoint, due to your upbringing and your... inclinations."

Adams stared at him blankly. He sighed, he still didn't see what House saw in her, but then he'd never understood House's obsession with having a succession of pretty young women on his team. Adams was the quota filler for this current team. House didn't even fuck them, however much they threw themselves at him. 

"To get back to my proposition for you. You'll continue to report back to Foreman, but you'll report back what I, and House, tell you to. And you'll keep us updated on whatever Foreman is planning. A double agent of sorts."

"And if I don't go along with this?"

"Did you enjoy your night hanging in the net, Doctor Adams?" Wilson checked his watch. He just had enough time to get back to the hospital. Adams would take a while to process his proposition and come to the correct conclusion of the safest course of action. He stood up, gesturing for her to stay where she was. 

"You'll take care of the check," he told her. "Then go into the hospital and go to work as normal. Come and see me by the end of the day."

Outside his driver was leaning against the door of Wilson's Volvo. As Wilson approached the woman nodded. 

"All done, boss."

"Thank you. Back to the hospital now please."

Adams would come out of the diner to find her tires flat and her car undriveable. She'd be late for work which wouldn't please House, but Wilson was sure that Adams would understand his message.

* * *

"You're late. The other children have started without you," House said as she walked through the office door. "You know if you don't turn up for work you can be sent to prison, right?"

Adams started to answer but then stopped as she took in the sight of her boss. House had been wearing a coarse denim prison shirt and a bright orange control collar since she'd been in the hospital. Now he was wearing a button down shirt over a t-shirt, neither item of clothing was tucked into his pants as the prison shirt had been. The orange collar had been replaced by a sleek black one. But why would the colour of his collar have been changed? Parole authorities weren't usually concerned with sartorial niceties. 

"You can stop trying to diagnose me - you haven't got the chops for it. My parole conditions have been loosened. I am free to roam the state and I don't have to wear the prison shirt. Sorry, I know this must be a blow to you. What's going to get you wet now?"

"You're still wearing the collar," she said, a sneer in her voice. She was tired of House and Wilson playing stupid games with her. 

"Oh, but this one is totally different." He struck a pose. "This one is Wilson's."

"Of course Wilson has you collared like a dog - so that you can come when he whistles." The moment she said it she knew she was in trouble.

He crossed the space between them and stood far too close to her. "I know your heart's racing at the thought of this collar. You're thinking you'd like to have the remote. You'd like to make me scream." His voice was low, quiet. Dangerous. "Isn't that right, Doctor Adams?"

'If I had the remote you'd be dead." She pushed him away from her and he grabbed her arm. 

"Is that any way to talk to your boss? Or to the guy who let you hurt him, twice?"

She remembered how utterly satisfying it had been to thrash him with his own belt. He'd asked for it and she'd gloried in every moment of it. If it wasn't for Wilson she'd be looking for an opportunity to do it again.

She tugged against his grip, pulling him towards her and knocking him slightly off balance. When he staggered she took her chance and broke free completely. 

The door to the conference room opened and Park entered, clutching a clipboard to her chest. Her eyes darted between Adams and House.

"What's going on?" she asked. 

"More to the point what are you doing back here?" House backed off a few steps and steadied himself on his cane before turning back to Park. "I told you to go and see the patient."

"The patient isn't eighteen," Park said, still looking uneasily between them. "We need to call in social services."

"She's totally eighteen, she told me herself."

"But..."

"Call them in, we lose the patient and that poor, sweet, innocent kid, is going to end up in the system. And you know what will happen to her then. She's eighteen. Now take Adams and go and run those tests."

Park hesitated but Adams shook her head at her. "It's not worth arguing. And it's not your neck on the line if the authorities find out House has been treating a runaway underage."

"Give me enough rope and I'll hang myself?" House mocked.

"Or someone will do it for you.”

* * *

"I hear you're treating an underage clinic patient," Wilson said, patting his lips clean with a linen cloth. He pushed the remainder of his meal over to House to finish off. They were eating lunch in his office. The remote to House's collar was placed within easy reach of Wilson. 

House shrugged. "Kid had enough sense to take off when her home became a shithouse. Doesn't make her case any less interesting." He talked through a mouthful of Wilson's french fries, stuffing more into his mouth as he went. 

"And of course you don't feel any empathy for her."

House scowled at him. "I wasn't a runaway."

"No, you just spent a year in juvenile detention when your Dad reported you for car theft when you were fourteen."

"Those records are sealed. And that wasn't all he did. And he wasn't my Dad." House pushed back from the desk. "I'm going back to work."

"Sit down," Wilson said mildly. House wavered but then sat back down, his face set in a sulky frown. Wilson could see the fourteen year old kid inside. "I don't care that you're treating this patient. I do care that you could be jeopardising your freedom by doing so."

"I can't live in fear of going back to prison. I wouldn't have called social services before, and I'm not calling them now."

Wilson regarded him. He'd always allowed House a free hand with how he ran his cases, and his department. He intended to keep House on a much tighter rein than he had before but he wouldn't undermine him on this. He nodded. Then he picked up the remote, tapping it on the edge of the desk. He was aware of House's eyes on him. He'd made excellent use of the collar last night when he'd fucked House into the mattress. A little jolt at just the right moment had been enough to send House over the edge and begging for more. 

House licked his lips, staring at the remote and then back up at Wilson. Wilson touched the control, just enough to send a tingle through House's body from his collar. 

"You'll work the case however you like, but you will take care of yourself. I don't want to lose you again. Understood?" He nudged the current up a touch and House's eyes widened. 

"Yes," House said, his voice slightly shaky. Wilson knew it wasn't fear. House wasn't afraid of pain. It was desire. House wanted this, as much as he sometimes fought against it. He needed this. Wilson upped the current again just momentarily and then shut it off completely. House slumped back in his chair, suddenly boneless. 

Wilson slipped the remote into his pocket and left for his rounds.

* * *

"Pull!" House yelled out and the clay pigeon flew through the air. He followed its track and then pulled the trigger. The target flew on, unimpeded as had the previous three before it.

"What are we doing here?" Adams, of course. He turned around, shotgun in hand. His team were all huddled behind him, shivering in the cold. They all eyed the gun warily and Park edged in closer to Chase. 

"Celebrating my freedom and exercising my democratic right to go wherever I want," he said. "Because I can."

"You have to stay in the State," Park corrected and then immediately shrunk in on herself when he glared at her. 

"My democratic right to go anywhere in New Jersey and shoot clay pigeons. I've missed this."

Adams laughed derisively. "You haven't gotten within ten feet of any of them. You've never done this before."

"I've missed the opportunity to do this." It was true. He didn't particularly like guns, or shooting, but being out of the hospital and in the fresh air was a welcome change of pace. Wilson's collar nestled snuggly around his neck, and he still wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that, but if that was the only impediment to his freedom he'd take it. 

Besides, screwing with the team like this was fun. Taub was wearing ear muffs and looking miserable, Chase was bored and freezing, and Park seemed terrified. Adams was, of course, pissed at him - seemingly her permanent state of being. 

He cocked the shotgun. "One shot. You hit the target you can go run to Foreman and tell him we're treating Little Orphan Annie. Miss and you keep your mouth shut about it." He threw the gun at her and she caught it. 

In one swift move she loaded a shell into the gun, swung it to her shoulder and yelled out 'pull!' Her shot caught the target, shattering it and sending pink smoke into the sky. Then she swung the gun downwards until it rested by her side.

"Damn," House swore. She looked hot, standing there casually holding the gun. Chase was staring at her with new appreciation, Park looked even more terrified and even Taub was taking notice. 

"I don't give a fuck about the patient," she said. "Call social services, don't call them. I don't care either way. I won't be telling Foreman. I'm through with playing stupid games with you people." She threw the gun back at him and walked off. Chase started to follow her but House stopped him with his cane. 

"Down, boy. She'd eat you alive."

"She's a loose cannon. You can't trust her."

"I don't trust anyone."

They both watched as she got into the car the fellows had come in and drove off. 

House grinned at their crestfallen expressions. 

"There's room in my car," he said. Well, it was Wilson's car - his own had had an unfortunate encounter with the front wall of a house and never recovered. 

He offered the shotgun to them.

"One shot. You hit, you get a ride with me."

"And if we miss?" Park asked. 

"Maybe Adams will come back for you."

* * *

Wilson looked up as Adams entered his office at the end of the day. 

"Case solved?" He went back to writing his case notes. 

"No. Foreman got wind of the patient's age and called social services. They've taken her away."

"Too bad." 

"I'm not taking your offer."

He put his pen down and regarded her. 

"I'm not reporting back to Foreman, but I'm not spying for you either. I'm here to be a doctor, and that's all I want to do. I just want to finish my time out and move on to somewhere else. Anywhere else."

He pretended to consider for a moment and then nodded.

"Thank you, Doctor Adams. You can go now." He picked up his pen and went back to his case files. She stood there for a few moments more and then left, anger radiating from every step. When she was gone, the office door slammed behind her, he put his pen down and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he made a call.

Chase came a few minutes later, slipping into the office quietly and closing the door behind him.

Wilson looked up at him.

"We have a problem."


End file.
